


Ultimate Sacrifice

by FiliKiliThorinForever



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fili is a snarky shit, Legolas is a grump, M/M, Memory Loss, Ones, Sacrifice, Thranduil is trying to help and not laugh, soul bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-11-14 08:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18048848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiliKiliThorinForever/pseuds/FiliKiliThorinForever
Summary: Plagued by dreams of evil taking over the world, and staring down Thorin Oakenshield - the one Middle Earth's fate depends on - Thranduil is left with little choice on how to save the world, and this idiotic ruler to boot.In order to save them all, he must get one of Durin's line to help him. But to help him means erasing the memories of the dwarf from his companions memories completely.And the dwarf in his sights? Fili. Who, when faced with the evidence has no choice but to cooperate.But Thranduil never told him to leave his personality behind, and the Elves of Mirkwood are about to get a crash course on dealing with Erebor's future heir in the process.Fingers crossed Thranduil thinks it's still worth it.





	1. The Battle of Two Princes

**Author's Note:**

> So this is one of the many ideas that's been sitting on my computer for a couple of years now, waiting to be written. When I was going through the prompts for the raffle exchange I came across this particular one which I thought would go quite nicely with the story, and figured it was time to dust off the idea and get it done.
> 
> This is certainly a new way of writing Fili in the Middle Earth context for me, but I hope you enjoy his sass as much as I do! There is some artwork that goes with this, however if you can't see it on here it's on the tumblr post as well :)

****

 

 **65\. You’re everything I have ever wanted** **and everything I have never** **dared to reach for.**

 

“Stay here if you will, and rot,” Thranduil drawled as his guards grabbed Thorin and dragged him from the hall. “A hundred years is but a mere blink in the life of an elf. I’m patient. I can wait.” 

The Elf King waited until the doors to the throne room slammed shut before settling back into his throne, folding one leg over the other and tapping his fingers on the arm rhythmically as he sifted through his thoughts. 

Despite what he'd told that ridiculous dwarf, he didn’t have the patience to wait a hundred years; his dreams of late had _shown_ him he didn’t have the time to do so. He would be lucky if he had a week, let alone a month before the world came crashing down around them and Middle Earth was thrust into eternal darkness. 

He snarled under his breath at the stubbornness of dwarves, and of Durin's line in particular. Did that foolish dwarf not see what his quest was destined to do? It would awaken the dragon, put countless innocents at risk but more than that... he was sentencing his line to die. If events played out as his recent visions had suggested then Thorin Oakenshield and his two nephews would die mere days after reclaiming their homeland. 

Horribly. Painfully. But more than that... 

Needlessly. 

And Erebor would be left in the hands of Thorin's cousin... Dain.  

He shuddered at the mere thought of communicating with the vulgar dwarf on a regular basis. While Thorin could be a thorn in his side at the best of times their Kingdoms had a connection – an ugly, sour connection he wouldn’t deny, but a connection nevertheless.  

But the Woodland Realm and the Iron Hills had no such thing.  

Dain had not been there when their Kingdoms were allies, nor had he been there when Erebor had fallen. And Dain would not take the place of the one Dwarf who would bring peace and prosperity to their lands once again. 

He wouldn’t allow it. 

The King of the Iron Hills only knew of comfort and luxuries, parties and good food, mediation and discussion. But Thorin? Thorin Oakenshield knew what it was to be brought so low that fighting back was the only way forward. He knew of labour and hard winters, starvation and feasts. 

Loss, and love.  

He knew what it was like to be one of the common folk and thankful for what he had because he had walked the lengths of Middle Earth in their shoes. 

And his nephews? If the reports of the Rangers were to be believed then his nephews would become Rulers the likes of which Middle Earth hadn’t seen since the beginning of time. Both of them knew nothing of luxury, and everything of friendship, dedication, hard work and honour. 

Thorin and his line would bring peace and security to their corner of the world, and with Aulë as his witness, he would not let that future be destroyed by the ignorance of that very same dwarf. 

With a shake of his head Thranduil snorted quietly to himself, his eyes landing on the statue of his beloved wife. _‘If only you could hear me, my love,’_ he thought wryly. _‘I’d never hear the end of it. Me, praising an idiotic dwarf. Who would have thought it?’_ Certainly not him, but with the fate of the world hanging in the balance, a choice had to be made; and he refused to allow the wrong one to succeed. 

His decision made and a plan formulating, he looked to the shadows by the door and smirked. While Legolas had become an expert at concealing himself in the darkest of places, he could sense the presence of his son anywhere. 

“Legolas.” 

As expected, the blond melted out of the shadows; his boots making not even a whisper of noise as he strode towards the dais before kneeling at the bottom of the stairs, as any good soldier would do to await his King’s order. 

“You called, father?” 

Thranduil ran his eyes over his son, his heir and couldn’t help the swell of pride he felt, knowing that one day this was who would inherit his throne. All the lessons, both diplomatic and in war had shaped his son into the perfect Prince; the perfect candidate to help keep the peace between the two great Kingdoms of the North. 

But there were still many lessons his son had to learn, and the meaning of sacrifice appeared to be the next on the list. 

He pushed out of his chair and swept down the stairs, amused to see the surprise on Legolas' face as he joined his son at the bottom and impressed at how well he hid it. 

A fine King to be, indeed. 

“I need you to bring me Thorin's heir,” he said, gazing out over the vast room as he thought about what had to happen. It wouldn’t be easy, but if it saved the line of Durin then it had to be done. 

He just prayed that the stubbornness of Durin’s line had yet to make its way to the next generation. 

Legolas stood and looked at him, confused. “Forgive me, father, but I... do not know who that is.” 

Biting down his frustration he turned his attention back to his son. Of course Legolas wouldn’t know which one of the dwarves was Thorin’s heir, because even the Rangers had been uncertain as to what the dwarf in question looked like. Heard his name and his praises plenty, yes. But actually laying eyes on the elusive dwarf had proven to be a much harder task indeed. “If my sources are correct, his name is Fíli. Do what you must to find him, but bring him to me. Quickly.” 

Despite what was evidently his continued confusion, Legolas bowed and made to retreat when Thranduil had another thought. One that made him smile; he had a reputation to uphold, after all, and winding Thorin up was probably going to be the only entertainment he’d get in the next year or so. “Legolas?” When his son had turned back to him, Thranduil smirked as he made his next request. “Make sure to parade him in front of his companions. We want them to know we have one of their own, after all.” 

“Of course, Ada.” 

He turned his attention from his son and snapped his fingers, waiting until another guard appeared before him. 

“Fetch me the dwarves weapons and bring them to this hall,” he ordered. “Find a table to lay them on so they are displayed. And send for the healer, I must speak with him at once.” 

* * *

 

Legolas made his way down to the prison cells, exasperated and confused by his father’s request.  

He knew his father hadn’t been sleeping well lately, plagued by bad dreams and nightmares but he was beginning to wonder if the lack of sleep was beginning to affect him – despite his assurances otherwise. It was a burden he wished he could carry for him, but right at that moment he knew the best thing he could do was follow his orders and pray that whatever his father had planned wouldn’t backfire on them all. 

There was muttering below and he crouched at the top of the staircase, looking into the cells several floors down. Tauriel was there talking with a young, dark haired dwarf that, on closer inspection looked similar to Thorin – perhaps this was the King’s heir? 

No, that didn’t seem right. 

He recalled the fight with the spiders, and how one of the dwarves had called out for the younger one, calling him Kíli. If this was Kíli then perhaps... he looked around the cells he could see, but none of those dwarves looked like they too were related to Thorin in any way. 

But then, dwarves were clever at deceiving outsiders with their appearance and their names. Perhaps this dark haired one was the one he was looking for, after all. 

“I must go.” 

He looked down again and found Tauriel rising from the steps, dusting herself off and smiling fondly at the younger dwarf. 

“I fear I have lingered far too long already, and my absence will soon be noticed.” 

“Will you come back?” 

If remaining hidden wasn’t a necessity, Legolas knew he’d be dry retching loud enough for them all to hear. What a lovesick fool the child was; pining over an elf. Tauriel was only humouring him, making nice to get past his defences so she could question him later on with ease. 

He hoped. 

 _'Aulë, let it be a trick,’_ he thought as he watched the elf he’d fallen for many moons ago leave the prison. _‘Please don’t let me lose her.’_  

As much as he wanted to reflect on the feelings he had for his friend, he was forced to hide in the shadows, watching as she left the cells before turning his attention to the oblivious beings below. With any luck, they would talk amongst themselves and he’d either find this Fíli, or eliminate the majority of the dwarves from his list enough to work out who he was looking for from the remainder. 

Now, all he had to do was wait. 

* * *

 

Fíli sighed quietly in relief when he heard the door shut behind the elf captain. He honestly didn’t think he could listen to any more of the tales Kíli told her; the stories of their adventures where he was, conveniently, forgotten. 

At first he’d thought the elf was going to harm his brother and so he’d pushed himself against the door, ready to hurl abuse at her – but instead she had sat down and talked with his brother who had had hearts in his eyes for the entire conversation. 

Seeing the way Kíli looked at her... it hurt. It hurt in such a way that only a few of his kind would ever experience. He’d prayed that his bond with Kíli had been felt by the younger dwarf – after all he had known since he’d hit his majority that Kíli was his One; but as the years passed, and Kíli’s majority came and went, nothing changed between them. 

Their soul bond, which should have been warm and shining like a beacon, tying them together until they returned to the stone, had remained cold and dark on one side. 

“Psst. Fíli.” 

Fíli was grateful his eyes were closed, because it meant he could roll them without anyone seeing. Let his brother walk hand in hand with the elf in the moonlight a little bit longer; he wanted to wallow in his self-pity for a while yet and talking to the one his heart yearned for would counteract his ability to be miserable.    

“Psssst. _Fíli_.” 

He flinched when a stone struck him on the head and he opened his eyes, turning to glare at his brother from where he was slumped against the wall. Kíli was smiling at him dopily, and Fíli wanted nothing more to wipe the look off his brother’s face. “What?” he snapped, still wary enough of any guards who might be nearby and listening. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a knife or something, would you? To bust out of here?” 

He looked at his brother incredulously before picking up a slightly larger stone and hurling it with pinpoint accuracy back at his brother’s forehead. “No, you ass!” he growled, folding his arms across his chest in annoyance. “I got a thorough shakedown from our jailors when they caught us. Although I doubt you would have noticed with how you were mooning over that elf,” he added under his breath. Louder, he continued. “If I had something, don’t you think I would have -” 

When a shadow fell across his cell he stopped talking and rolled his eyes – boy it was clearly shaping up to be one of _those_ days - when he realised who it was. “Oh great. It’s you again.” 

“Believe me, I'd prefer to be elsewhere also.” 

Fili glanced around and found that every dwarf who could see the elf standing there had gone on high alert, wary of the fact their enemy was standing outside the cell of their prince. 

Not that the pointy-ear would know that, of course. 

“Wait, I was kidding!” Kíli cried as Fíli found himself hauled from his cell in the blink of an eye. He hadn’t even seen the elf reach for his keys, Mahal-damn it! “Honestly, I was kidding! Fíli just arms himself to the teeth and I thought -” 

“For Mahal's sake Kíli!” he growled, trying to shrug off the grip the elf had on his shoulder and failing miserably. “Just be quiet before you get yourself into trouble!” he looked up at the elf – who was looking rather bored by what was going on around him, and growled. “And you, you blond tree hugger! Let. Me. Go.” 

The elf glared down at him, and without breaking eye contact pointed at Kíli. “You’ll do exactly as I say, you blond mushroom, or you won’t see your companions again, am I clear?” 

 _Excuse you?_ “Blond mushroom?” he sputtered in bewilderment as he was shoved forward. “If that’s the best insult you can come up with then you need some serious help.” If the situation hadn't been so dire, he knew Kíli would have been collapsed in a heap laughing, but as it was all he saw was the brunet's worried face staring back at him.  He would have reassured his brother if he could, promised him that he'd be fine - but as the elf still possessed Orcrist he figured he'd be given a close acquaintance with the tip of the sword if he tried anything. Instead, he settled for a reassuring smile, hoping that it wasn’t the last time they’d see each other. 

It was Thorin's eyes he found next. His Uncle was gripping the bars of his cell door and glaring at the elf as he drew closer; in fact if looks could kill Fíli was certain the elf would be dead and mounted on the wall already.  

“It’s okay, Thorin,” he promised the older dwarf as he passed by, relieved when his Uncle's attention was drawn to him. “I’ll be fine.” 

 _“Watch what you say,”_ Thorin growled back in Khuzdul, _“Thranduil is a snake -”_  

The rest of that sentence stopped abruptly when Fíli felt a slim knife press against the side of his neck. He froze and watched the colour drain from his Uncle’s face; utter silence falling over the prison as every dwarf's eyes we’re drawn to where silver met flesh. 

“I knew Dwarves were thick headed, but I didn’t realise you were hard of hearing as well.”  

Fíli grimaced when the knife dug in further, just on the verge of splitting the skin. He tried to pull away, but the elf made a noise of warning and pinned him against his much taller body. 

“I may not speak your language, but I can tell when my King is being insulted,” the elf warned, and Fíli looked up to see said elf glaring at his uncle. A slight movement had him grunting as the blade broke the skin enough to draw blood, which in turn had Thorin snarling and throwing himself at the bars. 

“You would do well to remember that, Oakenshield,” the elf added, flicking the blood that had gathered on the blade at Thorin's feet. “Else your nephews will be made to suffer your punishment.” 

 _‘Blast it all to the fires of Mordor,’_ he thought in annoyance. _'So much for my anonymity.’_  

No one replied as Fíli was shoved towards the stairs, the tip of the knife now resting between his shoulder blades. “As for you, princeling, I suggest you get moving before I punish your kin for your insubordination.” 

* * *

 

Fíli walked along the passage quietly, holding his head high and ensuring he was using his royal strut – Kíli’s wording, not his - to full effect; conscious of the blade that was still pressed into his back. 

While he was smart enough to worry for his safety, he couldn’t deny his curiosity at what Thranduil would want with him of all dwarves. Balin would be more reasonable to talk to, would secure their freedom with minimal fuss and a smile to boot – or Kíli, if the Elf King wanted to threaten someone; everyone knew Thorin had a soft spot for Kíli and would damn near castrate anyone who tried to hurt the younger brunet. 

He should know, he watched Thorin do just that to a couple of men several years ago after they decided attacking Kíli - when the younger was already injured, mind you - would be good entertainment for the evening. 

But why interrogate him, when there were so many wiser – _and worthier_ , a small voice in his head added – choices? And why would Thranduil send his son to fetch him? 

Fíli grinned slyly at that. He may not speak Sindarin fluently, but his secret lessons with a local Ranger over the past twelve moons meant that he’d understood nearly everything the elves had said in the forest. And like Thranduil, Thorin had kept tabs on the Mirkwood ruler over the years, so he was well aware of who was next in line to the throne. 

Time to see how well the elf’s royal training had paid off. Test number one: ‘hiding your reaction’. 

Keeping his strut in full effect he asked casually, “Tell me Legolas, is this a social chat or is there a particular reason your father wanted to talk to me?” 

The pressure from the knife lessened momentarily, and he smirked. “Sorry, was that meant to be a secret?” Fíli winced when the knife dug into his back harder than before, but he couldn’t help feeling just a wee bit smug. Getting one up on an elf was hard enough most days, but getting one up on Thranduil’s son?  

Thorin would be singing his praises if he knew. 

If he cared. 

“The King has summoned you,” Legolas ground out, and oh did it take all of Fíli’s strength to not turn his head to see his expression. “That should be explanation enough.” 

He shrugged. The elf kind of had a point; most would leave it at that, but he had a long walk ahead – he assumed – and he was feeling rather... competitive. So, moving on to test number two: conceding a point or standing your ground. “But he is your father, correct?” 

When there was only silence, he sighed. Legolas really was no fun at all. _‘Or,’_ he thought after a moment, gleefully. _‘His training isn’t as slack as I thought.’_ That realisation had him nearly vibrating in excitement. Time for test number three: handling antagonizing comments from your opponent.  

Given he was a natural at it – his mother was convinced it was a talent he’d been born with – subtly antagonising his opponents was a lesson he'd always excelled at; much to the chagrin of his teachers and the delight of his brother. 

Looking up at the elf, he gave Legolas his best innocent expression. “I get it, you’re on duty and don’t want favouritism shown by referring to him as your father.” And, just to drive his act home that wee bit further, he reached around and patted the elf’s leg. Balin would kill him if he saw that. Ha. “My apologies. How thoughtless of me.” 

“You. Are. A. _Prisoner_.” Well that certainly got under his skin. Excellent. “I’d suggest you start acting like it!” 

Rolling his eyes, he stopped – turning to the elf and giving him an unimpressed look. “We’re only prisoners because we’re dwarves, you fool,” he reminded the Prince. “If we were anyone else we would have been left alone.” 

Legolas glared down at him. “No, you’re prisoners because you were trespassing.” 

“Well we wouldn’t have had to trespass if your father had helped us when Smaug attacked,” he goaded. “Instead he turned tail -” or moose, he supposed if the stories were to be believed – “and ran like a coward.” 

“What would you know?” Legolas snarled, much to Fíli's delight. Now he was getting somewhere. “It was before your time!” 

“So you were there, were you? As the heir to the throne you have a duty to question your King's decisions. So, I’ll ask you this; why didn’t you help us?” 

Legolas narrowed his eyes at him. “You questioned your King’s decision to trespass, did you?” 

What a poor attempt at redirection. _Ha, nice try_ , Fíli thought, _but I’ll play along for now._ “Well when it’s the choice between going back and being caught by the Orcs hunting you, or potentially being ambushed by the elves and their Mahal-damned pets, you go with the option that’s least likely to kill you!” 

It was genuine confusion on Legolas' face, and Fíli just knew he was about to push the elf over the proverbial edge. “What pets?” 

“Your Mahal forsaken spiders! And seriously, what is wrong with you people? Who keeps pets that big in the first place?!” He shook his head in feigned disbelief. “Do you honestly have that big of a pest problem that your solution was _‘hey, let’s let the spiders deal with it and pray they don’t decide to attack the palace and the crunchy elf’s inside!’_ Honestly, what is wrong with you lot?” 

When Legolas stomped his foot, Fíli kind of felt bad for him. The muted noise his boot made must’ve felt wholly unsatisfying. “They’re not our pets! Did you not just see us _kill_ them to save your sorry hides?” 

With a shake of his head, Fíli began walking again. “Son, if they’re not your pets, then your forest has a serious condition.” He was now at a crossroad of two corridors, and when he wasn’t prodded into any particular hallway he turned around and found Legolas standing exactly where he’d left him; and gaping at him to boot. He rolled his eyes. “Are you coming or should I just escort myself to your father?” When the elf suddenly began moving he shook his head. “Honestly.” 

“Just – _urgh_!” Fíli snickered at the noise of utter frustration that left the elf's mouth as he was shoved into the right hand hallway. “Shut up and move.” 

“Of _course,_ your highness,” he drawled, beyond satisfied with the results he'd seen. “Whatever you say.” 

As it turned out, the hallway they were in led straight to the throne room; Legolas pushing the door open before shoving him inside. He spotted Thranduil immediately; sitting on the throne and looking their way – and he smirked. 

Time to meet the Elf King.


	2. Of Bargains and Revelations

**A/N: I am impressed with the speed in which I got this written, I'm not going to lie! I must admit, this chapter ends up doing a bit of character exploration - in this case it's Thranduil. In any of my previous stories he's starred in, he's been merely a plot point, but never one I've thought too much about. In this, however, I realised that in order for Fili to be convinced to help, he's going to need to hear Thranduil's side of the Smaug-Invasion story; he'd never go along blindly with a person Thorin despises. So while this might get a bit character heavy, it should, I hope, be the only time.**

**There's still plenty of our sassy Fili, but some crossexamining stuff too.**

**But it should be back to the sass and wise-ass soon!**

**Thanks to[Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [waterlilyblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlilyblue), [Tourmaline10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tourmaline10), [spiritleopard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritleopard), [Sachaward1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sachaward1), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [Bagofangrykittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagofangrykittens), [dab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dab), [KLeonard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLeonard), [ThornyHedge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge), [msilverstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msilverstar), [LeSeulMoyenDeLiberte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeSeulMoyenDeLiberte), [pandorasxbox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandorasxbox), [mjeanuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjeanuniverse), and [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane) as well as 4 guests who've commented and kudosed, its great to see you guys are enjoying this! I can't wait to see what you think of this chapter!**

 

* * *

 

 

                 

 

Thranduil watched as his son and Thorin’s heir approached; a serene expression firmly in place but on the inside he was chuckling. Every word that had been exchanged between the pair had been heard; and oh what a wonderful argument it had been.  

The information the Rangers had given him on Thorin's heir had been accurate; quick witted, intelligent, confident without the arrogance and most importantly – sharp. A most worthy choice for the throne. Thorin's sister had done well indeed. 

Despite the years of training Legolas had received, he was still somewhat naive; he’d never had a verbal sparring partner outside his own race – and it showed. Fíli had easily wiped the floor with him, and Legolas had allowed himself to lose focus and become frustrated. While slightly disappointing, it wasn’t surprising; by elf standards his son was still young, and focusing the majority of his attention of his fighting skills these past years revealed his training wasn’t as well rounded as it should have been. 

Legolas was lucky, then, that no other elf had been within earshot, otherwise he would never hear the end of it from his friends. Once this Erebor nonsense had been dealt with, he'd be having a rather frank conversation with the boy and his teachers about his expectations.  

In the meantime, he had work to do. 

He straightened slightly as the two blond's came to a standstill at the base of the stairs, and was impressed when the dwarf bowed without prompting. 

“Lord Thranduil, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

Thranduil looked down at the dwarf, raising one eyebrow critically. While Legolas hadn’t been on the same level as Fíli when it came to verbal sparring, he was certain he’d give the child a run for his money. “An interesting choice of words,” he drawled, watching attentively for any signs of discomfort, but there were none. Impressive. “I’m sure your Uncle would not say the same; Fíli, son on Víali.” 

Fíli tilted his head in agreement, and if he was surprised by the use of his first name he didn’t let it show. “Perhaps, but I am not my Uncle, my Lord, and I prefer to make up my own mind about those I have not yet met.” 

“Is that so? Despite the tales that you have undoubtedly grown up with about the rivalry of our two kingdoms? About how I abandoned you in your time of need?” 

“If one cannot tell the difference between a story driven by emotion, or by fact, then one does not deserve to have an opinion in the matter at all.” 

 _An interesting response._ Thranduil sized up the dwarf who was staring back at him, his expression and stance relaxed, and smiled - satisfied with what he saw. “Indeed,” he murmured. Louder, he continued. “It is good to see that at least one of Durin's line knows how to remain impartial, it gives me hope for the future.” 

“When the alternative is pettiness and grudges, I find I have far better things to do with my time, my Lord. Besides,” the light that suddenly flared to life in the dwarf's eyes had him leaning forward minutely in anticipation. “I’d rather be known for something more worthy than my obsession over a few jewels.” 

Oh, but this dwarf was _good._ Ignoring Legolas' sharp inhalation he rose, sweeping down the stairs and coming to stand in front of the blond. Fíli, for his part maintained his relaxed expression – but the twinkling in his eyes told Thranduil he was well aware of the insult he’d just made. 

What Legolas could _learn_ from this boy... 

“Would you be saying that about jewels whose value was irreplaceable?” 

“If one allows the value of trinkets to overshadow all else, then I would say they are not worthy to stand in a position of power, my Lord.” 

Thranduil snorted at the clear challenge. While it was true that he wished for the Gems of Lasgalen to be returned to their rightful home, his obsession for them had faded with time. It seemed Thorin's nephew was far wiser than he should have been, for his age. 

Legolas, it seemed, didn’t feel the same. “You should watch what you say,” his son snarled. “You know not what you speak.” 

“Enough,” he warned quietly. “If Fíli had truly meant to insult me, I imagine he would have said much worse. Wouldn’t you?” 

Fíli smirked, but said nothing. 

“Your ability to verbally spar with your opponents is impressive,” he told the dwarf, walking towards a table on the far side of the room. “And I have no doubt if we had the time it is something we could do for hours. But alas, we do not.” 

Both princes followed, and Fíli hummed in curiosity when he spotted the Company's weapons laid out neatly. Thranduil watched closely as the dwarf ran his eyes over the collection, continuously coming back to the larger pile of weapons. “I imagine this is not quite what you expected to see.” 

Fíli turned away from the table. “No my Lord, it is not. In fact, I had feared they would be lost entirely. Which begs the question as to why they’re here.” 

“You have shown me you can spar verbally, but how good are you, I wonder, with a blade.” 

The noise that left his son's lips made him sigh. “Ada, you cannot mean you wish to fight him!” 

He turned, and fixed his son with an unimpressed look. “No Legolas, I do not intend to fight him. That will be your job.” 

“I -” 

“The best to score three taps on their opponent should be enough,” he continued, cutting off his son's protest. Turning back to the dwarf, he smirked. “Unless, of course, you are not comfortable with such a task.” 

Fíli rolled his eyes at the challenge, much to his delight. “I honestly don’t know if that request was meant to frighten me, but I can assure you that if it was, you failed miserably.” 

He wandered over to the table and immediately picked up a pair of swords, smiling to himself as he twirled them in his hands with practised ease. Old friends then. 

“Where shall we do this?” 

Thranduil gestured to the vast, empty hall they were in. “Here is as good a place as any.” 

“Of course.” 

“ _Ada_ ,” Legolas growled, switching to Sindarian, “ _what is the point of this_?!” 

He turned and found his son glaring at him, which made him sigh. While he was grateful the gift of foresight had apparently bypassed Legolas altogether – trying to get things done on little explanation was much harder. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he squeezed it reassuringly. “ _Do as I have asked_ ,” he ordered. “ _Once you have done so, I will provide you both with an explanation_.” 

“ _What’s the matter? Worried you’ll be bested by the blond mushroom?”_  

Both elves turned, shocked. Fíli was standing there, a hand on his cocked hip and looking rather pleased with himself. “I’m sorry,” he drawled in Common, not looking the least bit apologetic. “Was it something I said?” 

 _‘Talented in many fields,’_ Thranduil marvelled. _‘Extraordinary.’_  

He looked at his son and Legolas exhaled sharply before nodding, walking over to where Fíli had chosen for their duel. The sight was an unusual one, he had to admit; an elf towering over a dwarf, one poised for combat and the other... 

He sighed. It would be nice if his son would just do as he was asked, for once. 

In fact, if Legolas paid more attention to the dwarf than he currently was, he would have seen the slight shift in the dwarf’s stance before he attacked. But as his attention was on his King, rather than his opponent, he noticed nothing. 

He noticed when Fíli’s foot buried itself in his gut and sent him flying, however. 

Legolas let out a grunt of surprise as he was sent sprawling, and Thranduil found he had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. Let that be a lesson to his son for not taking his opponent seriously. 

Fíli too, found his reaction amusing. “Oh, I’m sorry princess,” he taunted, “did I catch you unawares?” 

In one smooth, quick movement Legolas was back on his feet and stalking towards the dwarf, his blue eyes flashing as he drew his long knives. “That does not count as a point – and it will not happen again.” 

“If you say so.” 

That was all the warning Thranduil had before the two Prince’s burst into action, their weapons clanging loudly as they jabbed and parried, twirled and ducked. 

He walked around the edge of the fight, pleased with what he saw.  

It appeared the Weapons Master had taught Fíli well; his movements fluid and graceful – but powerful as well. The dwarf knew how to use his body as an extension of his swords, rather than allowing it to be an inconvenience. He was quick on his feet; darting away from Legolas’ attacks before throwing himself back in to try and get within his guard – which he nearly did several times. 

Catching Legolas unawares Fíli quickly scored his first tap before twisting out of reach; twirling his swords and grinning manically. 

“Come on twinkle toes, is that the best you can do?” 

With a roar, Legolas threw himself at the blond, and they were back at it; exchanging blows with a violent ferocity. 

 

 

In the end it was Fíli who won their bout, but it was a near thing. Legolas' skills as a warrior was overshadowed by his glaringly obvious unfamiliarity with shorter opponents; his inability to adjust in time affected what would have otherwise been some flawless moves. 

Both Prince's were breathing heavily, doubled over and sizing each other up; but where there had been indifference between them there was now respect. 

Sort of. 

“I have seen all I needed to,” he told them. “Return your weapons and follow me.” 

Without waiting for a response he headed for a side door, opening it with a wave of his hand before entering. The room was one few ever entered, and even fewer for those that weren’t a part of his kingdom – but drastic times called for drastic measures. The room was empty, save for a waterfall at the back that emptied into a small pool. It had been a place his wife had gone when she needed some time to herself or to gather her thoughts, and visiting this room always made him feel closer to her. 

As he neared the edge of the pool he spotted a small table; a velvet cloth adorning the surface and a phial of glistening red liquid the only object upon it, courtesy of his Healer. 

 _‘The fate of Middle Earth all comes down to these next few moments_ ,’ he thought as he picked up the phial. He would not fail. 

He couldn’t. 

Standing beside the table he waved Fíli over, and after a moment's hesitation the dwarf joined him. He looked the dwarf in the eye as he waved a hand at the water, bringing forth the visions that had been plaguing him for months. “Behold the fate of your Company, should they continue on their current path.” 

Fíli and Legolas watched, and he waited. 

The time had come for the fate of Middle Earth to be decided. 

 

* * *

 

 

Fíli watched apprehensively as the water began to swirl; twisting and frothing before suddenly – it became still – reflecting what was to come. 

 _A town on fire._  

 

 _Kíli, injured and sick._  

 

 _Smaug burning everything around him._  

 

 _People fleeing, terrified._  

 

 _Thorin, surrounded by gold._  

 

 _Orcs, marching on Erebor._  

 

 _A great battle._  

 

 _Blood._  

 

 _Pain._  

 

 _His body, laid out in the crypts beside Thorin's..._  

 

 _And Kíli's._  

 

 _Mahal no, not Kíli._  

 

He drew away with a strangled sob, aware of the tears in his eyes but uncaring. It took several moments to rid himself of the painful lump in his throat, but when he did his voice was still raw. 

“Why would you show me that?” 

When no answer was immediately given, he turned to face the Elf King. Whatever expression he was expecting to see, a sympathetic one was not it. 

“If you choose to continue with your quest, then you deserve to see how it will play out in full.” 

“So we are doomed to die.” 

Thranduil shook his head, and Fíli frowned. 

“The waters show the fate of whomever I choose; but like water our fates are forever changing. What you have seen here is your current destiny, but you do not have to allow these events to come to pass.” 

Fíli bit his lip and walked away from the waterfall, away from the elves to mull over the King's words carefully. Right now, Kíli and Thorin were doomed to die; to be cut down days after reclaiming the mountain. A fate he could not allow to befall his One and his Uncle. And, if Thranduil's words were true... then – 

He turned back to the King, hope sparking to life in his chest. “I can change what happens?” 

Thranduil looked at him evenly, as though he could see the path his thoughts had followed. “Despite the fact he has evaded my sentries, I am well aware your burglar wanders my halls – searching for a way to free you.” This was news to him, he hadn’t realised Bilbo had made it into the castle, let alone out of the forest. 

“In several days he will succeed, and you will escape.”  

Well that was a relief. “Then I don’t see the problem.” 

“You’re forgetting - the Halfling's escape plan is part of your current fate. While you may be free, it will be too late as the orcs that hunt you will have made it to my kingdom – they will ambush you and your kin, and your brother will be gravely injured in the ensuing fight.”  

Fíli suddenly felt lightheaded. “He... so soon after escaping?” When he'd had no chance to talk to his brother about how he felt? The waters had shown him that Kíli died, but they’d failed to reveal how. “Do his injuries kill him?” 

“That, I cannot say. I have seen several different paths your brother's life will take, and many of them lead to the crypt of your ancestors.” 

The soul bond in his mind panged with an overwhelming grief, and Fíli found he had to turn away as he tried to regain control of his emotions. “Why tell me this?” he asked shakily. “Why give me information I cannot do anything about?” 

“I will free you.” 

Fíli turned so fast he was surprised his momentum didn’t send him spinning from the hall. But he tamped down his shout of joy when the King raised a finger. 

“For a price.” Sneaking a look at Legolas, Fíli found the Prince just as confused by the discussion. _Good to know I’m not the only one._ “If you do as I ask, I will release your kin immediately; and I will give them a boat to help them make it down the river and across the lake. The orcs will remain days behind, and shouldn’t cause any further issues in their quest to reach the mountain.”  

“I thought you’d prefer we didn’t reach Erebor.”  

“My visions have shown me it will happen, regardless of what I do. This is the option that results in the most favourable outcome for all involved. The Orcs not included, of course.”  

Fíli sized the elf up, because despite what he had seen, it still didn’t make sense. Everything he'd been told about Thranduil, about the downfall of Erebor and the ensuing rivalry of their kingdoms told him that this wasn’t normal. Wasn’t right. 

He stood by his previous statement of making up his own mind on people he had yet to meet, but all stories were based on some kind of truth – and the stories of the King of Mirkwood painted him as a selfish creature. Concerned for no one other than himself. 

It was time to get some answers, once and for all. 

“Forgive my confusion, my Lord, but I find your timing in all of this to be somewhat suspicious.” 

Rather than offended, the King looked amused. “Do you?” 

“Yes, I do. You talk of wanting to save my kin and yet – where were you when Erebor fell? Where was the offer of aid you extend so freely now?” 

“You best watch you say, Dwarf,” Legolas snarled from his spot near his father. “Despite what you may think, you are not equals here, and you shall show courtesy to the King.” 

“It's quite alright, Legolas,” Thranduil said, waving a hand dismissively. “The boy has been raised on tales that only reflect half the story. He deserves to know everything. You would like to know what happened the day Erebor fell?” 

When Fíli nodded, Thranduil flicked his coat and sat upon the waterfall's edge, ever regal – despite being away from his throne and prying eyes. “Very well. However, I will let you start; tell me what you know so I may ensure your facts are accurate.” 

That was....unexpected. 

He took a deep breath, recalling the stories in his mind. “Smaug arrived from the North, drawn by the treasure buried within the mountain. When he attacked, my people were forced to flee. As they did so you appeared with an army behind you; but rather than fight you turned your back on an entire Kingdom in need. 

“You returned to your forest where you were safe and warm, while you allowed others to starve.” 

Emotion had no place in this conversation, and so Fíli left it out as much as he was able. But recounting the tale, even in its most basic form still brought a flare of anger to the surface. The stubborness of Rulers who were unable to put their differences aside in the face of such devastation had resulted in so much loss. 

So much pain and suffering. 

“My people needed help, and while you could have given it – you chose not to.” 

Thranduil looked at him, assessing, and Fíli couldn’t help but puff up in indignation at the scrutiny. He held his tongue however, not wanting to anger the King – despite the fact he’d indirectly called the Elf Lord a coward to his face. 

 _Well done Fíli, you might as well have called him a pretty elf maiden – for all that it would have been less insulting_ , he thought, exasperated. _Never mind._  

“Interesting,” Thranduil replied after a moment, when silence had fallen but for the sound of the waterfall. “These are the tales your folk were raised on, I take it?” 

“That was the simplified and politer version, but yes.” No point beating around the bush about it. 

“Hmm. Disappointing, but not unsurprising.” Thranduil placed a finger to his lips and tapped thoughtfully. “I would ask that you put yourself in my shoes momentarily; consider the decisions I too was faced with.” 

“Ada,” Legolas murmured, “you do not have to explain yourself to anyone – much less this dwarf.” 

“I don’t -” Thranduil agreed, glancing at his son, “but one must know when to negotiate, and if these are Master Fíli’s terms, then they shall be met.” 

The attention returned to Fíli, and he braced himself - knowing deep down that what he was about to hear would change everything. “Imagine, if you will, that you receive word a dragon is making its way to your corner of the world. You prepare your troops, knowing full well you are the least likely of targets – after all, what else does a dragon desire above gold – but your soldiers are on high alert; ready to move out at a moment’s notice to help those who are undoubtedly about to be attacked. 

“You arrive at the edge of the cliff and see the mountain and the nearby town engulfed in flames. The dragon has decimated the defences and already forced his way inside - those who are able are already fleeing. And so, you are faced with two choices: attack a beast that has gained the higher ground by entering the mountain, whose terrain is unfamiliar and risk losing the majority of your soldiers, or retreating – saving those same soldiers from a fiery and pointless death.” 

Fíli said nothing, but his thoughts were in stunned turmoil. _Blast it all to the depths of Mordor; but the elf had a very good point._  

His uncertainty must have shown, because Thranduil latched onto it. “If your Uncle’s reasoning is to be believed, then I should have sacrificed my men for a battle that would have been lost before it even started.” 

“You still could have helped us,” he replied evenly, desperately trying to come up with a reason that still made sense. “You could have offered us shelter, but instead you abandoned us to the Wilds.” 

“Dwarves are built for mountains and land, not treetops and forests. Even if Thorin had accepted our offer of shelter – and you know very well he wouldn’t - your people would have suffered greatly for no reason. Why? _Because they would not have survived in our kingdom._ Especially so soon after being forced from the mountain they had lived in for centuries, away from the stone they were intimately connected to – or are the stories of the dwarves connection to stone more myth than truth.” 

Fíli didn’t have an answer for that, and it seemed Thranduil wasn’t going to wait for one, either. 

Rising to his feet, the King clasped his hands behind his back, drawing himself to his full height. “Tell me, what do you know of gold sickness?”  

Uh oh.  

“It’s... an illness that affected my ancestors, brought about by greed,” he replied, wary about where this was going to go. 

“Have you noticed how it hasn’t affected your uncle?” Thranduil pressed. “Do you think its strength of character that has made him immune? After all, Thrain and Thrór were both great Rulers in their own right, and yet they fell to its effects. If the same illness that ran through their veins runs through Thorin's, could your Uncle's lack of symptoms be because of something different? The distance between him and the gold, perhaps?” 

Fíli looked at the ground, unseeing. He'd never thought of it like that before; in fact, he doubted _anyone_ had. 

What Thranduil was saying... it changed _everything_. 

A finger hooked under his chin and he found himself looking into sympathetic eyes. “If your family had stayed in our forests, the proximity to the mountain and the gold would have driven those suffering from gold sickness to madness, and eventually death. Had your people stayed in our forests, the lack of connection to stone would have destroyed them _._ ” Thranduil’s voice was kind as he explained, and he knew the King was telling the truth. 

“While your uncle may not believe it; the decisions I made were what I believed to be the best for your people – I am a King, after all, and therefore must think like one, regardless of who has been affected. While I regret how things ended between our two kingdoms, I would do the same again if I had to, because it was what would ensure the survival of your people.” 

It was nearly impossible to believe, but every story he'd been brought up on - everything he'd been told about the elves of Mirkwood, their arrogance and refusal to help the dwarves in their hour of need... 

It was a lie. All of it. 

“I tell you all this, Fíli, because I need your help to save your friends, and Middle Earth from the fate that awaits them. 

“Will you help me?” 

He swallowed thickly. “What must I do?” 

The relief on Thranduil’s face was brief, but it was there. The elf headed for the small table and Fíli watched in trepidation as he picked up the phial before turning back to him. “The price will be memories; your companions memories of you, and your memories of them.” 

“I...” well that made no sense. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, my Lord.” 

“It is not just your companions whose lives will change when they reach the mountain, but many others. You have proven yourself to be a fine warrior and will assist those who need your help elsewhere. Knowing your Uncle, however, he will not leave you behind in my care – and so will put his reclamation of the mountain at risk. This is something I cannot allow.” 

Fíli doubted very much Thorin would delay the quest for him, but he figured it best not to mention that out loud. 

“You will remain here, and fight the battles that need to be fought while your kin do what they must. By removing you from their minds, they will continue to Erebor without hesitation.” 

“But why take my memories? If they have forgotten me, I fail to see how taking mine is necessary.” 

“Because you cannot afford to be distracted from your own task,” the King replied, as though it were obvious. “You have a dangerous road ahead of you, and thoughts of your kin’s welfare in the midst of battle cannot be allowed to occur.” 

“And when it is all over, then what? I am forgotten by my kin, and I have forgotten my family?” 

Thranduil chuckled. “You automatically assume my intentions are evil once again, master dwarf. The memory loss is temporary; easily reversible but only when I choose it. 

“You will eventually be able to return home, but in the meantime you will live as one of us; treated like the royal you are. An adopted son, perhaps.” 

Legolas' strangled outburst of indignation was ignored by them both. 

“Why would you do this? Why choose me?” 

“Would you rather it was your brother?” Thranduil asked mildly. “I can fetch him and offer him the same deal. It’s not like you’d remember, in the end.” 

He shook his head. “No! No, I...” he didn’t know what he thought, really. But he did know that whatever happened, he wouldn’t allow Kíli to be forced to forget his kin. 

And he wouldn’t allow his One to die, either. 

That left only one option. “Very well,” he told the elf, “I will do as you ask. But, I do ask that you allow me one thing.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“That you allow me the chance to say goodbye.” 

Thranduil nodded. “As you wish. I -" he paused, head tilting slightly as he listened to Mahal-knew-what, before smirking slightly, his eyes fixed on the shadow of the doorway. “You can come out, Master Hobbit.” 

Fíli whirled in surprise and a second later, a rather sheepish looking Bilbo walked through the door. 

“Bilbo!” he hurried to the Halflings side, looking him up and down for any injuries. “Are you hurt?” 

“I’m alright, Fíli,” the Halfing promised, clapping him on the shoulder before turning to the Elf King and bowing. “I apologise for eavesdropping and trespassing, my Lord.” 

“Your apology is accepted, Master Bilbo, and if I had the time I’d ask how exactly you’ve managed to avoid detection – but unfortunately I do not.” Thranduil looked Fíli in the eye. “We cannot linger, as time is of the essence.” 

“I understand.” The problem was, Bilbo's appearance added a complication. He needed to explain what was about to happen, but he wanted to do it privately. “Will you be returning everyone’s weapons?” 

“I shall.” 

“Then may I sort the weapons? I noticed they have not been organised and if you wish for the company to move out quickly, handing them their weapons in the correct grouping is best. Believe me, it’s a task that will go faster if I do it.”

Thranduil nodded, before withdrawing a small knife from his robes. “I need a drop of your blood, for this to work. The blood will mix with the potion and once mixed with their drinks, it will take effect.”

“Uh… Fíli…?”

He looked at the Hobbit, who was looking at the phial warily. “Its okay, Bilbo, I’ll explain soon.” He held out his hand and Thranduil came closer, using the tip of the knife to prick one of his fingers. He winced, but waited patiently for Thranduil to take what he needed, and when he was done he stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth; watching with interest as the blood was added to the potion.

The red liquid slowly morphed into a glowing blue, and the satisfied look on the Elf King’s face told him that whatever the potion was meant to do – that was it.

There was no turning back now.

 

* * *

 

“Go do what you must, Fíli, but hurry.” Fíli bowed before dragging a bewildered Bilbo from the room. He turned to his son, and was glad to see him standing closer – it meant he could keep his voice low, and unheard from nearby ears. “Organise for an unopened cask of wine and some food to be sent down to the prisoners, but it is not to be delivered until Fíli is present. Once that’s done, summon everyone to the Great Hall, for I must speak with them.”

“Of course, Ada.”

Legolas went to leave, but hesitated. He could see the question forming on his lips, and so he fixed his son with a stare. “Out with it, Legolas. You’re not one to hold your tongue.”

The boy looked uncomfortable, but he spoke up as he knew he would. “Why are you doing this? Beyond what you’ve said about saving Oakenshield and his men, what have you seen that has made you so determined to separate the dwarf from his kin?”

Thranduil sighed, closing his eyes and for a moment he truly felt his age. “There must always be a son of Durin on the Throne. While Dain is of distant relations, he is not a true heir. I’m doing what I must to ensure that Durin’s line survives, one way or another.”

“You… you truly don’t know if Thorin or the brother will survive, do you? You only told the dwarf that to appease him.”

He opened his eyes again, to see his son looking stricken. “Sacrifices must be made in war, Legolas. You know this as well as I. We will do everything in our power to ensure all of Durin’s line prevails, but Thorin will fall to the gold sickness – this is one thing I cannot change - and how fast he shakes it will determine his fate. As for Fíli’s brother, he is stubborn and prideful, and I imagine he’ll survive out of pure spite.”

“But if they die, and Fíli regains his memories, he will never forgive you. Our kingdoms will truly be at war.”

Thranduil knew this. He knew this deep down in his bones, but his decision would not be changed.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take this opportunity to address the nightmare NZ has found itself in. Yesterday, on March 15th 2019, just after 1pm a White Supremacist open fired on two Mosques, killing 49 people and the injuring the same again. As a nation we've watched in horror as this terrorist attack unfolded on our home soil in all our media outlets, and have been in mourning since.
> 
> My heart is broken. I'm devastated, I'm angry... I don't know how to describe how I feel: I'm tearing up as I write this and have been all day. Innocent, peaceful worshipers were targeted for their beliefs by an arrogant, idiotic bastard who doesn't even belong to our country, and as a nation we've been forced to bear witness to an attack on our beliefs and ideologies of being a peaceful, welcoming nation to all.
> 
> We're grieving. We want answers. We want to believe we're safe but that thought is far out of reach, and will be for a long time - I could barely face the thought of leaving the house today, and I just feel so broken and empty inside right now. NZ is an ethnic pot of diversities, we take pride in it; we have friends of all colours and religions and treat them as our own. We don't let that be the defining face of who they are, for they are our equals - no matter where they're from. But to see someone who has made the decision to play God and choose who lives and dies - and live stream it all for like minded bastards to watch... It has shattered our very souls.
> 
> Life is short, and we will get over this. But the road will be so very, very long. Look after one another, and take joy in the simple things. Kia Kaha <3
> 
> ****
> 
> Phial drawing - BlackBirdInk.deviantart.com


	3. And With This Mug, Shall Our Paths Diverge

**A/N: Hello again everyone! I'm absolutely loving your comments for this story so far, I'm so pleased you love the little blond hellion that is Fili in this! After the rather large character assessment of Thranduil last chapter, I'm glad to say that Fili and Legolas get to have another showdown of words here ;) I certainly had a lot of fun imagining how this would go, so I hope you enjoy it just as much as I have! Oh and to everyone who's read plenty of my stories it probably comes of absolutely no surprise, but I had to throw a bit of angst for Fili in here too. Sorry not sorry :P  
**

**I'm not 100% happy with the artwork I put together for this chapter, but I'm tired and figured it got the summary of this across well enough :)**

**Huge shout out to[Im_a_huge_fan_of_coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_a_huge_fan_of_coffee), [Bubbles759](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubbles759), [Ruairi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruairi), [KiliLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiliLover), [eldhraun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldhraun), [Neferteri_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neferteri_M), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [waterlilyblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlilyblue), [Tourmaline10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tourmaline10), [spiritleopard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritleopard), [Sachaward1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sachaward1), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [Bagofangrykittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagofangrykittens), [dab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dab), [KLeonard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLeonard), [ThornyHedge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge), [msilverstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msilverstar), [LeSeulMoyenDeLiberte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeSeulMoyenDeLiberte), [pandorasxbox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandorasxbox), [mjeanuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjeanuniverse), and [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane) as well as the 12 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are what keeps me determined to finish this! :D**

           

“Fíli. _Fíli!_ ”   

“Walk and talk, Bilbo, we don’t have time to linger!”   

Bilbo rolled his eyes and followed the dwarf to a table holding their... weapons? Well that made no sense.   

“Fíli, seriously, what’s going on? Why are your weapons here? Why are _you_ here? And why isn’t Thorin?”   

The dwarf reached the table, and with quick, efficient movements he began sifting through the mini armoury that had appeared in the Elf King’s throne room. “How much of that conversation did you hear, Bilbo?” the blond asked, shooting him a quick look over his shoulder and looking for all the world like secret missions with Elf King’s and potions and magic were a normal occurrence in his life.   

To be fair, it possibly was.   

He shrugged. “Not much, if I’m honest. Something about needing your help? I found the others in the dungeon, and Kíli told me you'd been taken so I came to find you. Fíli, would you _stop_ -" he placed a hand on the dwarf's and looked at him imploringly. “Please just - talk to me. What’s going on?”   

The dwarf chewed his lip, and he waited patiently. Never let it be said that Hobbits didn’t have any patience - he'd spent an entire afternoon watching his prized tomatoes like a hawk, just waiting for Lobelia to sneak a few when she thought he wasn’t looking.   

She tried, and never got a single one.   

Ha.   

“Thranduil has shown me the future of our company,” Fíli answered quietly, glancing around to see if they were being watched. “Shown me that the line of Durin will die trying to reclaim the mountain.”   

Bilbo felt his stomach drop out from under him. Maker help him, _no._    

“But he wants to help,” Fíli continued quickly, stopping his thoughts from plunging into a litany of horrified ‘ _please no’_ and _‘it can’t be true’_. “He wants to stop that from happening, Bilbo. He said I can save them. That he will help me save them.”   

“How?” He knew he sounded hopeful, but when the blond looked away, his expression turning guilty he put his own feelings aside and narrowed his eyes at the dwarf.   

“I...um...it’s not really -”   

Oh no, he was _not_ getting out of it that easily.   

“ _How_ , Fíli?”   

The blond sighed, agitated. “The price of saving them is my memories, okay?”   

“Uh -” what? “I don’t see how that’s going to help any.”   

“He gets my memories of the Company, and the Company's memories of me. As far as they’ll be concerned, I won’t exist.”   

Of all the idiotic things to believe... “You do realise that that still makes no sense, don’t you? Aside from the _how,_ what good will that do?”   

“Thranduil said that the reclamation of Erebor was going to affect more than just my people, and he’s right. With a dragon in front of us and Orcs behind us, a fight will come. A fight he said he needs my help with.”   

He rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help it. “And if Thranduil told you to pitch yourself into the depths of Mt Doom with a jig and wave, would you do it?”   

It was Fíli’s turn to roll his eyes. “If it meant saving my kin? Then yes. But I’m not stupid Bilbo, I know what I’m doing.”   

“Do you?” he demanded. He may still be learning about dwarvish custom, but the first thing he’d picked up on was how important family was; and what Fíli was suggesting was going to tear his apart. “Do you know what it will do to Thorin and Kíli when they learn what you've done?”   

“The line of Durin must survive. I’m doing what I must to ensure that happens,” Fíli countered, turning back to the weapons. “Besides, it’s only temporary. I’ll do what Thranduil asks of me, and when I’m done I’ll return home.”   

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. This thrice damned stubborn dwarf. He’d wondered since meeting Thorin and his nephew’s where the relation between Fíli and Thorin was; wondered how a golden-haired dwarf with a kind smile and easy laugh was related to the dark headed, brooding thundercloud that was Thorin.    

Well now he knew.   

“Fíli, you need to listen to me. One, temporary for an elf could be a life time for us – they’re immortal, remember? You may never get to return home because Thranduil may decide to keep your debt to him until you die. Two, you said he was doing this to save the line of Durin. You’re a part of that line too, remember.”   

Fíli paused for a moment. “It doesn’t matter about what happens to me,” he said quietly, his voice firm and full of conviction. “As the heir to the Line of Durin it’s my job to ensure my King, my brother and my people are safe.”   

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing; how could this boy hold so little value on his own life?! What had happened to him over the years that made him think he was less important than anyone else? “I know of twelve beings who would disagree with that,” he growled. “Fourteen if you count me and Gandalf. And are you honestly telling me that you trust Thranduil to keep his word?”   

Fíli didn’t answer; instead he sorted the last few knives into their rightful piles before turning to him, raising a hand to tug his hairclip from his hair. “Of course not,” he admitted. “He’s a King, Bilbo; King's always have hidden agendas.” Fíli looked relaxed, as though they were merely discussing the weather and not his fate, but Bilbo hadn’t survived years of the Sackville-Baggins' without knowing how to read someone; and while he looked and sounded calm, his eyes told an entirely different story.    

Worry, fear and determination were all there, warring for dominance in that startling blue, but he was hiding it well.   

“Then why are you doing this?”   

“I already told you; if it means saving my family, then I’ll do whatever he asks.” Fíli removed the beads from his hair and his moustache, and leaned forward to murmur in his ear. “But it doesn’t mean I can’t make contingencies. ‘A Ruler who fails to consider all options, well before anything occurs doesn’t deserve to be called King, but a fool,’ is what Thorin taught me, and that’s what I’m doing.”    

Bilbo curled his fingers around the beads that were pressed into his hand. “Give these to Kíli and Thorin when the time is right, but not before – you'll know when that is, believe me. And this,” the dwarf handed over a small, but wicked looking knife. “Kíli made this for me a few years back. I won’t go into the story behind it, as we don’t have the time, but it may help jog his memory if needed.”   

“Fíli -”   

“At the end of the day, Bilbo, my family is the most important thing in my life,” the blond murmured, digging around in Gloin’s bag until he found some leather straps, and he made quick work of binding the ends of his braids again. “Thorin is my Uncle, my King, and the closest thing I’ve had to a father since I was a child. And Kíli?” He exhaled shakily, biting his lip nervously. He looked Bilbo in the eye, and the hobbit couldn’t help but think that he was about to be let in on something that no one else knew.  

“Kíli is my One,” Fíli whispered. “What you would call a Soulmate,” he added at what was undoubtedly a confused look on his face. “For whatever reason, Mahal has decided that my heart is to belong to my brother until I return to the stone, but -”   

The sorrow on Fíli’s face had Bilbo swallowing heavily. “He doesn’t know, does he? That’s why you’re doing this.”  

There was a small nod, and Bilbo couldn’t resist his somewhat motherly nature at the sight of his friend looking so sad, so he pulled him into a hug, holding him tight.   

“Please look after them,” Fíli whispered into the crook of his neck, his arms coming up to return the hug. “I can’t lose them.”   

“I will, Fíli. I will.”   

 

* * *

 

After the unexpected confessional Fíli had found himself in, he gave the weapons pile a final look over to ensure they were all where they should be; his gaze lingering on his brother’s bow a moment longer as he recalled Kíli’s joy when Thorin and their mother presented it to him for his Name Day.   

He was so happy, literally radiating joy that Fíli had felt himself drawn in like a moth to flame. The grin Kíli had turned on him had been like looking into the sun; so pure and bright and so full of happiness that he’d nearly had to look away lest he went blind.   

But he didn’t. Instead he’d returned the smile and waited patiently; waited for the bond between them to flare to life and tie them together, the darkened chain becoming a brilliant gold that was unbreakable.  

Instead, nothing had happened.  

Kíli had gone down to the range to try out his new bow, and when he was done he dragged his family down to the tavern for a celebration with his friends. He’d danced and sang until the sun came up the next morning, full of too much energy and ale to consider sleeping until Fíli and Thorin ended up carrying his drunken backside home.   

But not once did that bond show any life, any hint of a connection being made.  

Instead it stayed dark.  

Dead.  

Unreturned.  

It was then he’d learned what true pain could be; how a love that should have been so pure could be so painful. It ached and burned in a way he couldn’t describe, but he’d hid it from everyone. From Kíli, from Thorin, from his mother. None knew of his inner torment, and now they never would – it would remain a secret that had been buried with time – the pain still there, but numbed to a dull ache.

Perhaps the loss of memory would take the soul bond away completely, give the chain a clean break – free of pain and the chance to reforge it with another.  

Perhaps he’d finally have the chance to one day be around Kíli again, without grief continuously lapping at the edges of his mind.  

He shook himself from his morbid thoughts and turned away from the piles, satisfied, and instead began returning his little arsenal back to where it belonged – if there was one thing that would convince his kin that all was well and Thranduil was indeed on their side, it would be the sight of him walking around fully armed again.  

Ignoring Bilbo’s occasional mutters of _'do you even have any space left in your jacket’_ and _‘how are you even able to walk properly’s’_ , as he returned his knives and axes to their rightful homes, he thought about what was going to happen – questioning himself about whether he was indeed making the right choice.   

Yes, Thranduil’s temporary could be his forever, and yes, joining him on this quest could get him killed – but what was the alternative? Watch as Kíli was led like a lamb to slaughter? Watch as his Uncle and One fell before his very eyes?   

No. He couldn’t let it happen.   

It may not be a good decision, and his mother would clout his ears and ground him until his death bed if she knew what was about to happen, but it was the right one.   

He headed back to the waterfall room, and was slightly thrown at the sight of the two guards that seemed to have appeared out of thin air standing there; listening to their King as he spoke to them quietly. Where they came from, he had no idea, but he hoped not all the elves were as sneaky as these two were.  

Privacy would be very hard to come by here, otherwise.  

“Are you ready, Fíli?”  

He blinked, refocusing his attention and found Thranduil and the two guards watching him. “The weapons are arranged by their owner, my Lord. I’m ready when you are.”  

“Excellent.”  

The King nodded at his two guards who left the room. “They will collect the weapons and will have them waiting for your kin. Now, I need you to follow me.”  

Fíli fell into step behind Thranduil as he left the room, reaching over to tug Bilbo’s hand when it appeared the Halfling was planning on just standing there. They followed the King through a winding passageway, and Fíli couldn’t help but marvel at the structural design of the palace.  

Where dwarves preferred stone carvings – heavy, thick, _unbreakable_ – there was a certain beauty to the arches that were carved from wood, reaching up into the rafters in twists and turns that no stone mason could ever hope to replicate. It matched the fairness of the elven race, and despite the differences of their two kingdom’s, he knew how to appreciate beauty when he saw it.  

And very soon, he’d be living here too.  

He wondered if his altered mind would find the same beauty in the kingdom as he did now, or whether he would pass it off as unimportant; falling into the same pit all beings did when they took something for granted.  

He hoped not.  

Thranduil stopped and pushed open a door before descending a flight of stairs, and he glanced over at Bilbo who had remained silent before following the King to the bottom, taking a steadying breath as he knew his time with his kin was about to end.  

Their destination was a small kitchen, scarcely furnished and the cupboards and counters bare. In the centre of the room there was a wooden trolley; delicate in appearance yet undoubtedly sturdy all the same. On its surface there were twelve mugs, all aligned neatly on the top with a cask of wine and pitcher of water on the bottom.  

The room was empty, save for the trolley. Oh, and –  

“Hey Twinkle Toes.”  

“Mushroom.”  

Bilbo sputtered in surprise, and Fíli felt a bit sorry for the Halfling. Random names – or insults in this case – for greetings must not be commonplace in the Shire. “ _What?!”_   

“Now now Bilbo,” he replied, smirking slightly at the elf who had his arms crossed and was watching them with undisguised annoyance. “It’s not his fault he’s a princess. Sometimes you just can’t help who you are.”  

The glare Legolas sent his way had Fíli biting back a grin. “I will throw you from the tallest tower the moment your back is turned, just so you know.”  

Fíli gave him a thumbs up before turning back to the King who was watching the pair of them in amusement.  

“You’re quite finished, are you?” When he shrugged the King sighed before withdrawing the phial from his robes, removing the stopper and pouring several drops into each cup.  

“The Halfling will assist you in taking this cart to your kin,” Thranduil instructed, waving at a door he hadn’t noticed in his initial survey. “Legolas will oversee this all to ensure none of them try anything. You will explain to them that you have negotiated your freedom with me, and I have – in my generosity – agreed to return your weapons and give you some supplies for your departure at dusk.   

“My guards have advised me several of your company have been asking for refreshments. The cask of wine is unopened; so Thorin cannot accuse me of tampering with it, and the water is fresh from the waterfall – you won’t find purer than that. You will pour their chosen liquid into the cups and hand them out.”  

He nodded. It was all pretty straight forward. “How will the potion work?”  

“It will mix into the wine or water, and the colour will disappear. The potion will work quickly to put them to sleep and will proceed to wipe you from their memories, in fact it should take little more than an hour for them to wake, none the wiser to who you are. By that time, you too will have forgotten them.”  

Fíli looked at the King in alarm. “You’re going to wipe my memories so soon?”  

The look Thranduil gave him was one that he knew meant the king thought he was being rather dim. “And why should we wait? We had an agreement, Fíli.”  

“I know, I know,” he replied hastily. “But, may I make a small suggestion?”  

When the Elf King inclined his head, he exhaled slightly in relief. “While you say your potion will work, we don’t know for sure. Allow me to keep my memories until they leave Mirkwood, so I know it was successful. Once they’re gone, I’m all yours.”  

He held still while the King searched his expression, likely looking for any sign of deception – but he knew he’d find none. Nothing in life was certain; even magical liquids, and there was a chance the potion would fail. He couldn’t think of a situation worse than one or two of the company remembering him while he had no idea who they were.  

Erebor would be abandoned, and a war would start right in Thranduil’s throne room – with Fíli none the wiser as to its reason, or whose side he should be on.  

It appeared Thranduil’s thoughts were following a similar path. “Very well. Once they are gone, so too will your memories.”  

“Um, excuse me?” Fíli and Thranduil turned to look at Bilbo who was looking more than a bit uncomfortable at the attention. “May I ask, what your plans for me are? Do you intend to take my memories also, my Lord?”  

Fíli moved aside as Thranduil swept past him to stand in front of Bilbo, and he stooped until they were eye level.  

After a tense silence, the Elf King drew away. “You may keep your memories, Master Hobbit,” Thranduil replied. “While Thorin’s Company must forget Fíli for their safety, your safety relies on your memories – for Fíli is intricately connected to your knowledge of fighting, unlike theirs. You are to help guide them to Erebor, and to the reclamation of their kingdom from the Wyrm. But you must make no mention of Fíli during your journey – for their quest, and their _lives_ , could be lost if you do.”  

When Fíli realised Bilbo was looking to him for help, he nodded. Bilbo knew the stakes, and knew that this was what he wanted.  

It didn’t make it any easier on his friend, though.  

“I understand, Lord Thranduil.”  

Thranduil nodded. “Excellent. Legolas?” he looked to his son and motioned with his head to the door.   

The Elf Prince bowed stiffly before walking across the room to unlock it for them. “Move it fungus.”  

Fíli grinned slyly at the glaring blond as he wrapped his hands around the trolley’s handle bar, making room for Bilbo beside him. “I may be about to lose my memories, but I doubt very much it’s going to change my personality, and I warn you now Twinkle Toes; I’m going to make your life miserable.”  

When he saw Bilbo look at him quizzically, he grinned. “Amad used to say that the reason I was born two weeks early was because Mahal had decided to spare his sanity and inflict me on the rest of Middle Earth for some peace and quiet.”  

Bilbo chuckled, and Fíli caught the furious look Legolas gave his father.  

“Ada, what have you _done?!”_   

 

* * *

 

 

Their arrival went unnoticed as they approached the cells. In fact, the only reason any of the Company realised they were there was because Fíli announced them when they were standing in the centre of them all.  

“Y’know, for prisoners in a rival's kingdom, your observation skills are appalling bad,” he told his friends, shaking his head in feigned dismay.  

“Fíli!”  

“Fíli! Bilbo!”  

“I don’t believe it!”  

“It's Fíli and Bilbo, Dori, look!”  

“I can see that, Ori.”  

“Fee, are you alright?! What happened?”  

Fíli tuned out the exclamations of his companions as he lifted the wine cask for them all to see. “Apparently you lot were moaning about not having anything to drink, so Lord Thranduil has allowed me to bring you some refreshments before he lets us go.”  

Dead silence.  

He rolled his eyes. “You’re all very welcome,” he told them, withdrawing a knife from his coat and using it to lever the cork from the barrel. “Don’t say I don’t do anything for you.”  

As expected, when his companions realised he was fully armed again there was an explosively loud reaction, but it was Kíli's voice that he honed in on.  

“Mahal, Fee! How’d you manage to get that pointy ear to release us _and_ return our weapons?!”  

“Negotiation, Kee,” he replied, praying that his grin was convincing. “You'd be surprised how well things move along when one knows how to negotiate. Now you lot,” he added, raising his voice to silence them all, “we've got water and wine – who wants what?”  

He and Bilbo went about filling the cups as per the requests, Bilbo answering the questions about what had happened to him in the forest with as little detail as possible. Fíli had to admit he too was curious as to how exactly the Halfling had not only escaped the spiders, but the guards as well – because to do both with a hair barely out of place was an incredible feat. Unfortunately, it seemed that Bilbo wanted to play the whole thing off as being a good burglar; and whether that was to cover up something else – like his deal with the Woodland King – or because he was genuinely uncomfortable answering those questions, he didn’t know. 

And probably would never know, now. 

When he went to Kíli's cell, his brother linked their hands together through the bars – his eyes filled with worry.  

“Did he hurt you, Fee?” Kíli asked, pitching his voice low to avoid drawing the attention of the others, and likely Legolas who was sitting on the stairs with his legs dangled over the side and looking utterly bored. “You were gone for so long that I thought...” he bit his lip and looked away, embarrassed. “Just, tell me you’re okay? Please?”  

The smile he gave his brother was gentle and full of understanding. At least, he hoped it was. “I’m fine Kee,” he replied, untangling their fingers to tug on a lock of his brother’s hair. “It’d take more than an elf to fluster me, you know that.”  

He handed the mug over, giving that lock of hair a final tug before pulling away; ignoring the pang he felt at the thought that it could very well be for the last time. But no sooner was his back turned than a shocked gasp left his brother's lips and he spun around; a single, horrifying moment of utter fear filling him that Thranduil had been lying all along.  

To his relief, the brunet’s lips were dry – in fact he hadn’t lifted the cup any higher from when he’d grabbed it, but his expression was stunned.  

“Your hair clip, Fee, where is it?!” 

He rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation while trying to stop his heart from smashing its way from his chest. Mahal’s hairy balls, his brother was too perceptive for his own good. Oh well, that’d teach him for thinking he could hide things from an archer whose job it was to, y’know, see things. 

“They took it off me,” he lied smoothly. “My beads too. The guard was concerned I might turn them into a weapon or something so I had to hand them over before I met with Thranduil – which, remind me to look into turning the clasp of my hairclip into a mini knife or something once Erebor is up and running, yeah? It’s not a bad idea, come to think of it.” 

“You mean you’re not actually made of arrogance and hot air? You actually know how to think, let alone do anything?” Legolas muttered from his step, and Fíli turned to see the elf smirking down at him. “Incredible. The Mushroom is just _full_ of surprises.” 

“Come now Twinkle Toes,” he drawled back, “You’ve got to come up a name better than that – you’re wearing it out!” 

Legolas rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk, you deformed pumpkin. Besides, I have better things to do with my time.” 

The insult was so unexpected that Fíli actually had to steady himself on the bars of Kíli’s cell so he didn’t fall over laughing.  

“What is happening right now?!” 

He ignored his brother’s baffled question to clap slowly, not breaking eye contact with the elf for a moment. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he cooed. “There’s hope for that air filled head of yours yet!”  

“Bilbo,” Balin muttered, probably equally as baffled as everyone else was. “What in Mahal's name is happening?”  

The Halfling shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what to say, Balin, I just found them like this. Honestly, I think it’s been going on since they met each other.” 

“I can’t believe I got stuck on guard duty,” Legolas muttered in disgust, turning his nose up in the air. “You’re all beneath me.” 

Fíli rolled his eyes as he headed back to the cart to collect Thorin’s mug, smirking at some of the more creative Khuzdul insults his kin were replying with. After a particularly good one from Dwalin, where the dwarf likened the elf prince to a particularly nasty strain of toe fungus, Kíli piped up as well.

“Yeah, no one asked you!”  

“Its fine Kee,” he promised his brother, doing his best to keep a straight face before yelling over his shoulder; “Silence from the rafters, princess!” 

“Wait,” Kíli spluttered, “that’s a girl?!”  

He was still trying to get his snorting under control as he walked over to his Uncle’s cell and held his drink out to him through the bars. When the only movement Thorin made was to narrow his eyes at the mug, he sighed. “If you’re trying to make it catch fire, we’re going to be here a while.” 

“What did you do?”  

He pulled back and looked at the cell suspiciously before turning back to Legolas, who was now examining his nails. “Oi, Leafy! Is his cell soundproof?”  

“Lea -? Ugh, whatever.” The elf rolled his eyes. “There are gaps in the bars, toadstool, what do you think.”  

He nodded sagely before looking at his Uncle again. “It’s one of your selective hearing days again, is it?” he darted out of reach when Thorin went to cuff his ears. “Well don’t ask me a question that I’ve already answered! I told you, I negotiated with him!”  

“And what did you use to negotiate with?” Thorin growled, the ‘vein of doom’ - as named by Kíli and totally not him - throbbing in his forehead as a warning that his patience wearing thin.  

“A smile and charming attitude.”  

“Oh Mahal,” Balin muttered from somewhere off to the left.  

“We’re doomed,” Dwalin agreed tiredly.  

Fíli rolled his eyes and made a rude gesture in Kíli's direction when he heard him snigger.  

“Fee!”  

“Thorin, the mountain and the gold is fine, if that’s what has you so worried. But as I’m apparently the wiser of the two of us at the moment, I remembered that we'll miss Durin's Day if we remained here. So, I negotiated.”  

“Well, oh mighty Wise One,” Kíli drawled, grabbing his attention yet again. “How are we getting out of here?”  

“Aüle,” Legolas muttered, “is sarcasm bred in your family or is it an inherited trait?”  

“It’s selective with this one,” Fíli replied, jabbing a thumb in Thorin's direction. “Along with his hearing, so it’s hard to say.”  

His friends’ snickers were drowned out by his Uncle's snarl. 

“Fíli -” 

“For Mahal’s Sake, Uncle!” He cried in exasperation, nearly throwing his hands up to complete the look but he caught himself at the last second – he couldn’t afford to waste the magical drink right now. “In return for your freedom, I had to promise him three favours, okay? He doesn’t have to give me warning, and unless it’s going to put me or others in serious danger without discussion, I can’t turn him down. Are you happy now?” 

One skill he’d honed over the years was being able to make a lie so convincing that no-one had been able to tell if anything he said was true or false; not even Kíli. And the skill was certainly coming into its own now. The added bonus was that there was absolutely no reason for any of them not to believe him. 

“You – you -” 

Fíli rolled his eyes. Again. He felt like he’d done it so much today that he was surprised they hadn’t rolled out of his head and made it half way to Erebor already. “For the love of Mahal, Thorin; I’m old enough to make that kind of decision for myself, okay? Our freedom for three favours is nothing. Or don’t you trust me to know what I’m doing?” 

The lack of response stung more than he thought it would. 

Swallowing back the bitter taste that had risen in his throat, he tried a different approach. “I won’t let my pride rule me; unlike some, Uncle,” he growled. “And I for one would like very much to go home.” And he did, he really did. But it wasn’t Erebor he was referring to, it was Ered Luin. The place he knew like the back of his hand, that he’d taken his first steps in and shed blood in a time or two. 

It was the place his mother was; waiting all alone for news on her family. 

It was the place that held all the comforts of home; that made him feel at peace. 

Erebor was not that, and possibly never would be. But if using the term was what he needed to use against his stubborn Uncle to convince him to accept Thranduil’s help, then so be it. 

“Now shut up, drink this and once I know you’ve all had your refreshments we’ll be escorted to a boat. I refuse to listen to a single one of you complain about being thirsty for the duration of our trip because you refused a drink, you hear me?” 

Thorin glowered at him, but took the mug and drained it in one go. 

The rest of the dwarves followed suit, and soon he and Bilbo were collecting the cups from their companions. They both watched out of the corners of their eyes as the potion took immediate effect; eyes became heavy and bodies slowly started sinking to the ground. 

Fíli watched his brother blink sleepily at him, and he smiled sadly. 

“Fee?” Kíli mumbled. “’m all sleepy, Fee.” 

“I know Kee,” he murmured, walking back to his brother’s cell and resting his head against the bars as he watched the brunet slowly succumb to the effects. “It’ll be okay soon, I promise.” He bit his lip and looked up at Legolas, who was now watching them all attentively.  

“Can I sit with him?” He asked. He must have sounded unusually quiet, because the elf looked at him in surprise. “Just until he falls asleep?” 

Legolas hesitated for a moment before nodding, unhooking the keys from his belt and tossing them down. The trust that Legolas had in him that he wouldn’t go back on his word was staggering; and Fíli prayed that whatever happened from this point forward, he didn’t give the elf cause to regret it. 

It took a few tries, but eventually he found the key and he unlocked the cell; slipping into the small room and gathering Kíli up in his arms. The brunet barely stirred, being dragged further into slumber by the potion and unaware of who held him.  

“Go to sleep, Kee,” he whispered. “You’ll be okay when you wake, I promise.” 

Kíli relaxed completely, and he sighed; holding his brother to his chest that little bit closer. He placed his mouth beside his brother’s ear so no one would hear the words he was about to breathe life into, the words that he’d suppressed for years in the very depths of his heart. 

“You’re everything I have ever wanted, and everything I have never dared to reach for. I love you, Âzyungel.” 

He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Kíli’s mouth before pulling away. As much as he desired to kiss him properly, it was not his place to claim it, nor would it ever be – and he had to respect that, as much as it hurt to admit.  

Lowering Kíli to the ground in a comfortable position, he gave his brother’s hair one last adjustment before leaving the cell for good. If the elf had heard his declaration of love, if he even knew what had been said he made no indication of it; instead he was walking around and examining each of his prisoners with interest. 

“Are you okay?” 

He jumped slightly at Bilbo’s hesitant question, and even more hesitant touch to his elbow, and smiled sadly at his friend. “I’m not, no. But it’s for the best, and very soon I won’t remember either, so it doesn’t really matter how I feel, I guess.” 

“You can still feel sad,” Bilbo told him quietly as he began pushing the trolley back to the kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

Fíli heaved a sigh as he followed Bilbo from the room. “You’re probably right. I’m about to lose the one person who knew me better than I knew myself. I just hope, when the time comes, we get that back again. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t.” 

Bilbo nodded in understanding, and once they’d returned the trolley they both turned to the elf. “Now what?” 

Legolas looked into the corner of the room, and a guard appeared out of the shadows, making them both jump. 

Damn these elves and their sneakiness! 

“The Halfling will return to the cells to reassure your companions when they wake. You, Fungus, are coming with me.” 

He nodded, and was about to walk away when there was a hand on his elbow, spinning him around. “Fíli, wait!” Fíli barely managed to find his footing before he was pulled into a tight hug. “Look after yourself,” Bilbo muttered, squeezing tight. 

He returned the hug with fervour. “And you, Bilbo,” he replied. “We'll see each other again soon.” 

Mahal, he hoped it was true.

Bilbo nodded before following the guard back to the dungeons, and Fíli followed Legolas up the stairs – doing his best to bite down his fear that was beginning to grow with every step upwards. 

He could do this. He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thank you for all your kind comments last chapter too. NZ really has been shaken to its foundations with what's happened, but it's also given a lot of people the wake up call they needed - that yes racism does happen here, and we also have people who own guns that have no place being in our society. I can only hope that after everything that's happened, NZ as a whole takes a good hard look at itself and changes for the better. 
> 
> I know what it's like to be bullied and ridiculed, and so have always made sure never to say hurtful, racist comments to people. And after what happened I've made sure to be even more mindful of what I say, because careless comments can be the breeding ground for attitudes like that.
> 
> Much love my friends xx <3


	4. Fears In My Final Hour

**A/N: Hello all you lovely people! Sorry for the delay update, things have kinda exploded in chaos around me! I've just found out my house is getting demolished in a couple of months time and so it's now a mad scramble to find somewhere and my three flatmates to live, in a town that has a huge accommodation shortage - and what is there wants a kidney as payment each week with how freaking expensive it is! So just a wee bit stressed! Oh and I have no idea how, but I got into the new Thunderbirds TV show; it's actually really good! I've seen all the originals (thanks dad) but I've really enjoyed it - hence why there's been a writing delay! Give it a watch if you want a bit of a laugh and something new to get into! :)**

**This chapter is, as the title kind of suggests, a bit of a feelings driven one. I figured I wouldn't get a chance to touch on Fili's relationship with Thorin after the next chapter - yep, bye bye memories next chapter - and seeing as we all know there's some issues between the pair, courtesy of their little jail-chat, I wanted to delve into it a bit more before nobody knows who each other is! There's still plenty of smart-arsery from our two blonds, but a bit of 'heavy' stuff too. Kind of. Oh and what's a little bit of heavy without Fili's self-doubt ;)**

**It's 1am here, so apologies for the artwork - but it really was the only thing I could think of that portrayed what this chapter was about.**

**Huge shout out to[NewDispute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewDispute), [fkuz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fkuz), [empress666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empress666), [VacationPlease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VacationPlease), [PurpleFeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFeathers), [Im_a_huge_fan_of_coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_a_huge_fan_of_coffee), [Bubbles759](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubbles759), [Ruairi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruairi), [KiliLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiliLover), [eldhraun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldhraun), [Neferteri_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neferteri_M), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [waterlilyblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlilyblue), [Tourmaline10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tourmaline10), [spiritleopard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritleopard), [Sachaward1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sachaward1), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [Bagofangrykittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagofangrykittens), [dab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dab), [KLeonard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLeonard), [ThornyHedge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge), [msilverstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msilverstar), [LeSeulMoyenDeLiberte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeSeulMoyenDeLiberte), [pandorasxbox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandorasxbox), [mjeanuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjeanuniverse), and [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane) as well as 18 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are what keeps me determined to finish this! :D**

 

_‘You can do this,_ _Fíli_ _,’_ he thought sternly, trying to chase away the doubt that was doing its best to sneak into the corners of his mind. _‘You'll save your family, you’ll save your One, and you'll save the lives of those near Erebor who are unable to save themselves. It’s an honourable task, and will be a noble sacrifice should the worst come to pass.’_       

“If you think any harder, your hair may catch fire.”      

“Listening to your voice is enough to make me want to set myself on fire,” he retorted without missing a beat. He turned his attention away from his thoughts and looked up at the elf with a smirk. “Seriously, do you eat twigs and stones for breakfast or something? Because that would explain why you sound like a… cave troll, or something.”   

Legolas looked down at him, unimpressed. “Very mature.”   

He shrugged. “I’m just saying, the whole ‘elves have voices like bells’ sales pitch? So not true where you’re concerned. I think I was lied to. I want my money back.” He was shoved harshly, and Fíli couldn’t help but snigger. “Oh I’m sorry, did I hurt your feelings?”   

“Not at all. I am however impressed with the growing number of trees I’m going to be pushing you from at some point. I suppose that big head of yours will help cushion most of the blows you’ll get on the way down.”   

“Rude.”   

Legolas smirked but said nothing – and eventually silence settled upon them once again. Fíli turned back to the pep talk he’d been giving himself prior to Legolas’ interruption – but found he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. The words that had come to him so easily before were suddenly out of reach; slipping from his grasp like water between his fingers.   

It was annoying, but not unexpected. And if he were honest with himself; there wasn’t much left to say about the situation he now found himself in. Very soon his family would be on their way to reclaim the mountain; none the wiser to his existence while he worked alongside Thranduil and his men to protect those from the battle supposedly on the horizon.  

And he’d do it completely oblivious as to who he truly was.  

Thranduil and Legolas were also completely oblivious as to who he was, and yet they were willing to go along with this frankly hare-brained scheme of theirs regardless. When he thought about it, he was baffled by how great a risk they were both willing to take on him. Neither of them knew who he really was; his values, his beliefs – the reason he strived for excellence in every task he did… they knew nothing - and yet they were willing to trust him to protect countless innocents in their name.  

Blind faith was a powerful thing.  

But it was also foolish; and he was feeling particularly curious as to just why they were trusting him to do what they asked. For all they knew, choosing him was the biggest mistake they could possibly make. Maybe he was an utter orc to get out of bed before sunrise, or maybe his ‘helping’ was also done with as much whining and complaining as he could possibly fit in before getting a smack over the head. 

The experiment he’d carried out a few years back had resulted in a personal record of forty seven minutes.   

Thorin had not been amused.  

They knew nothing… but they trusted him anyway. But just accepting that trust was something he couldn’t do; and as he was nosey by nature, he decided that some answers were in order.  

“Leafy?”      

There was a tut, followed by a sigh. “What?”      

“Do you believe what your father says? About his vision?”      

The question appeared to catch Legolas off guard, because the elf’s feet faltered. “What do you mean?”      

“His visions,” he clarified. “And what he showed us. Is his foresight something to be trusted, or is it more unreliable than he said?”      

Legolas looked at him for a moment, baffled. “It’s a little late to be asking this now, don’t you think?”      

He fixed the elf with an unimpressed look; keeping his mouth shut and waiting patiently.      

It paid off. Eventually.      

“You must understand that foresight is not a gift,” Legolas said eventually, resigned. “It is a burden that brings great responsibility, and often great suffering. My father's visions are rarely wrong, and often there is little he can do to change them – despite his efforts.” He sighed, the soft sound filled with sadness. “If he could, my mother might still be here.”      

Fíli looked at the elf, horrified; his heart aching at the thought. He hadn’t bothered to consider what kind of visions Thranduil might have been forced to live with during his lifetime, but now that he did… it made him feel sick. The mere thought of being forced to watch Kíli die again and again in his dreams – until it finally happened in front of his very eyes made him want to pitch himself into the depths of Mt Doom.    

It was a burden no one should have to carry, and yet Thranduil did so every day.    

The King was stronger than anyone outside his kingdom probably gave him credit for.    

Legolas’ face was lined with old grief, and he placed a hand on his forearm in consolation. “I know it will mean little coming from me; but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your mother.”      

There was a stilted nod, but no verbal reply.      

He swallowed, not needing the ability to read minds to tell that it was still a raw subject for the elf and so he continued on. “If your father is unable to change his visions, why does he think he can change our fates?”      

“Because unlike his other visions that have shown no alternative, yours have shown him many. Why? I don’t know, but I think he's determined to see a good outcome for once, rather than being forced to sit by as yet another tragic event occurs.”

That was understandable. If he was forced to witness death and destruction on a regular basis, he'd want to try and force good outcomes where he could, too.  

“I’ll admit, that makes perfect sense now that I know how your father’s visions work. But perhaps you can answer this for me, seeing as Thranduil didn’t. Why me?” 

Legolas looked at him, his expression unreadable. “You’d prefer it was your brother?” 

He ground his teeth together in frustration, but didn’t let any of the annoyance he felt bleed into his voice. “That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it. Why did your father pick me, specifically? There are twelve other dwarves in the company who are just as capable as me to get… whatever this is, done. And yet he’s decided to entrust the future of hundreds to me. Why?” 

Legolas stopped walking, and folded his arms across his chest as he stared down at him. If the elf was trying to look imposing or intimidating, he’d have better luck convincing Dain he was a fairy princess.  

“Firstly, nine of your companions are in no way warriors. One has an axe sticking out of his head and doesn’t appear to know what’s going on half the time, one is too heavy to be much good for anything other than a Warg’s meal, and two of them look like they belong in a library or tea shop. One is old enough to have retired, and the rest look like they mean well, but wouldn’t be classed as warriors or hold up in a battle for long. They’d never have been up to the task, and so that leaves your Uncle, your brother, the bald dwarf and yourself. 

“Your Uncle would never have been chosen for this, and your brother barely looks old enough to be of any use, let alone out on this quest of yours. That leaves you and the bald one – and frankly I’d be worried about old age catching up to him part way through a fight. So, by that logic alone, that leaves you as the only choice.” 

“By that logic, you and your father shouldn’t be allowed out of bed for fear of your bones breaking in your old age,” he retorted, bristling at the insults that had come without hesitation. “Just because they don’t look like warriors, doesn’t mean they aren’t capable fighters – and they’re certainly not as useless as you make them out to be.” 

It was obvious the elf didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t about to waste his breath trying to convince the blond otherwise. Besides, he still wanted answers. “You didn’t answer my question. Or are you telling me that you chose me because you thought I was young and pretty?” 

Legolas sputtered, completely caught off guard. “Excuse me?!” 

“Did you want me to bat my eyelashes for you?” He continued, valiantly maintaining a neutral expression despite wanting to snigger at the horror that was growing on the elf’s face. “Perhaps I should twirl a bit of hair around my finger and look at you coyly while thanking you for the _wonderful_ opportunity I’ve been given to serve by your side.”  

“For the love of Aüle, please don’t,” Legolas begged, looking vaguely green at the thought. “I’d rather not revisit my breakfast.” 

He smirked triumphantly while Legolas shuddered visibly. “Then I suggest you give me a better answer than a sad and inaccurate method of deduction. Why me? Why would you _trust_ me to do what you need? You don’t know me.” 

The elf's discomfort was shifted to the side, forgotten in favour of confusion. “But… we do. We do know you, Fíli – that’s why you were chosen. This decision has been years in the making.” 

“I – what?” 

“Fíli, my father's visions of your Quest haven’t come suddenly, he's been forced to endure them for years. Not daily, but regularly enough for him to take notice. So, he sent scouts to Ered Luin a number of times to gather whatever information they could that would help us prevent your deaths. Aüle's sake, _I_ went there three years ago on the way back from a mission with the Rangers. You’d be surprised what the trees have to say about your kind – many of them have been scarred by your axes and swords and naked backsides for decades, the poor things; they’re traumatised.” 

“Our -" 

“But one of our main tasks was to gather information of Thorin and his nephews, which we did. According to your people, you're an excellent blacksmith and swordsman, level headed and firm, but kind and compassionate. You’ve faced down some of the worst filth this world offers and walked away with little more than a scratch and a smirk. Like I said, we know you.” 

Fíli narrowed his eyes at the elf, instantly suspicious. “It sounds like you spoke to Bombur's wife on a day the bairns were with their Uncle. She’s the only one I know who spouts that much nonsense about anyone.” 

“Believe what you will,” Legolas replied, turning away and walking down the hall. "But we know that you’re the best person for what needs to be done.” 

“She must’ve been in a really good mood to say that about me,” he muttered. She’d never quite forgiven him for the incident with the jam two years ago which had, incidentally, been Thorin's fault – but his uncle had either been oblivious enough not to know what had happened or smart enough to make himself scarce over the following days – but either way Fili ended up having to shoulder the blame, much to his frustration. 

The number of disappointed headshakes that had followed him over the following months had left him wanting to tear his hair out. 

He shook his head and continued walking, smirking at the glaring elf when he realised he'd stopped so he could catch up. 

“Don’t get huffy with me,” he drawled, “I have little legs.” 

“I bet that’s not the only small part of you,” Legolas replied drily.  

Before he even had the chance to retort the elf was walking and talking again. “And now for my question. If you’re still uncertain about my father's visions, why would you do this?”      

Well, wasn’t that a simple question that had a less than simple answer.      

“Don’t think for a second I’m going to let that comment slide,” Fíli warned him, wagging a finger at his face. “And I’m doing it to save my family.”      

Legolas rolled his eyes. “I don’t doubt it, short stack. Now you can stop being elusive and answer the question properly. Why?”

“Why not?” he countered. “If sacrificing myself means they get to live, then so be it. My Uncle has been through so much since Erebor fell; he’s suffered so much pain and loss that he deserves to not only return home, but actually live there until he's too old to be anything other than grumpy and crippled and a general pain in the ass. And Kíli’s my brother; my best friend, my...” he hesitated, not sure if the elf would know exactly what he was referring to. But, he figured – in for silver, in for gold and all that. It’s not like he'd remember either way; he had nothing to lose by telling him. “My One,” he admitted softly. “I’d do anything for him.”      

“Your One?” Legolas sounded thoughtful. Damn. “I have a vague understanding of dwarven culture, and I recognise that term. Aren’t One's your soulmates?”      

He winced. Apparently someone had been paying attention in his classes. “Yep.”      

“But...” Oh, but Fíli really didn’t like his tone. To be fair it was more confused that accusatory; born from a lack of understanding, not disgust. “He’s your brother.”      

“Your observation skills are amazing,” he drawled. “We don’t get to choose who our One is. And while it’s rare, Ones can be unrequited, which I believe may be the case here. I will not stop my brother from following his heart or his destiny, whoever that may be with; but I will do what I must to save the one I love.”    

“That’s…” Legolas appeared to be lost for words, but Fíli didn’t bother to complete that thought for him.    

“It is what it is. Kíli loves me as his brother, but not as his One. I came to terms with this long ago. Perhaps with the loss of my memories the bond will break, and I’ll be able to find another once I return to my kingdom – or maybe not; maybe the bond will remain. I don’t know what will happen, but it’s worth a try – but more importantly what happens after today will be worth giving my life if it means Thorin and Kíli survive.”    

“And what would Thorin think, if he knew what you were about to do?”  

He rolled his eyes. “He’d probably call me an idiot for trusting an elf, let alone one he called his enemy. But as for wiping my memories to save them? Doubt he’d care, to be honest.”  

A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and Fíli kept his gaze firmly on the wall when Legolas turned him around to face him.  

“What exactly does that mean?”  

“Exactly what I just said, Twinkle Toes – he wouldn’t care.”  

Fíli glanced up through his lashes, and was surprised to see the emotions warring on the elf's face. So when the elf knelt in front of him so they were eye level, he nearly fell over in shock. 

“I’m not a child,” he snarled, suddenly feeling defensive. “So don’t treat me like one.” 

“You’re far too wrinkled and ugly to be a child,” Legolas retorted with a smirk, before his expression fell serious again. “But that’s a pretty serious accusation, Fíli, and so it deserves to be treated as such. You’re Thorin's nephew, and his heir – what exactly makes you think he wouldn’t care that you’ve become a bargaining chip?”  

“Is that what I am?” 

“No,” Legolas conceded, “but you know that’s how he'd see it.” 

Sadly, he couldn’t deny that fact. “I love Thorin dearly, make no mistake. When I was a bairn, my Amad said I worshipped the ground he walked on; I’d wait for him eagerly to come home from the forge or a trip, hang off his every word and dragged him out to play the craziest of games Kíli and I could think of, all because we wanted to be around him as much as possible.” The corner of his mouth lifted briefly as he recalled the memories. “Thorin was everything I pictured in a King and father figure and then some. But as I grew older… the laughs, the smiles, the… Uncle, I suppose – disappeared.”

His brow furrowed slightly as he thought back to the changes he witnessed in their relationship. “At first I thought it was because there was a lot of royal training to undertake, and he didn’t want any of the naysayers of my appointment as his heir to accuse me of getting special treatment; but even at home his attitude to me had cooled. Gone were the warm smiles and laughter, the hugs and general familial displays of affection were all but extinct. They were still there for Kíli, make no mistake, but for me…” He shrugged helplessly. Even now, the thought of the complete disregard his uncle had for him made his heart ache.

“I had thought, once I became settled in my training things would go back to normal with him. But they did not. If anything, they got worse. Every tiny mistake was treated like I’d stabbed Kíli in the gut and treated it like a flesh wound, any suggestion I had that didn’t conform with his was trampled on before being disregarded. Every success was treated with disdain and disappointment - as though I’d failed to meet his expectations.”

Fíli wiped at his eyes, irritated by the burning that was behind them. He didn’t want Legolas to see any weakness, any pain that lingered. It was simple, really. He was a constant disappointment in Thorin’s eyes; and even what he was about to do to save his people would be treated the same as it always had been.

“Like I said, string bean, he wouldn’t care.”

“I doubt that’s true, Fíli,” Legolas reasoned. And he really did. The tale Fíli had just told him was strange, because it didn’t fit with anything he’d heard of the dwarven King. There had to be more to it, but finding out would take time – and time was something they didn’t have.

But he didn’t want to leave Fíli without some kind of reassurance, and so he placed a hand on the dwarf’s arm, gripping it tightly.

“Whatever motivations Thorin has for treating you differently, I doubt it’s because he doesn’t care. You won’t remember this soon; but I swear to you, I’ll do my best to return you to your family, and your people, alive. And when you return home, you’ll see just how much Thorin cares for you, I promise.”

He doubted it, but he wasn’t about to say so out loud. Instead he nodded, a small, but genuine smile touching his lips.    

“I appreciate it.”


	5. Until We Meet Again

**A/N: Man I'm on a role! Just the realisation that I've written more in the last couple of weeks than I have in the last 18 months continuously blows my mind! And I've definitely realised that I've missed writing consistently, so once this is done I'll be making a bigger effort to get my WIPs finished - especially as there are so many more stories I want to write in this and other fandoms, but I won't do so because I've got my current WIPs and readers waiting on me! Sorry about that, by the way.  
**

**In saying that, I watched Avengers Endgame the other night and it just about ruined me. Fuck it was a good movie. The only reason I haven't seen it a second (or fourth) time already is that all the sessions at my local theater are still sold out! Crikey! To help me deal with the end, I wrote my first ever Marvel fic -[And It's At The End Of The Line Our Paths Diverge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18618322) \- to help me deal with it. If you're a Marvel fan like me and have seen Endgame, give it a read and let me know what you think! There's a sample on my Tumblr too :D**

**A note for this chapter: I cant find any information about the correct position princes are to stand by the throne in order of their succession – however for some reason I feel like the 2 nd in line stands on the King's left – like Eomer does with Theoden after winning Helms Deep. So that’s what I’m going with. If its wrong... tough tiddlys.     **

**A special shout out to[Monsan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsan), [Blueskydancers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueskydancers), [knotyourboyfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knotyourboyfriend), [EmeraldJaded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldJaded), [NewDispute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewDispute), [fkuz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fkuz), [empress666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empress666), [VacationPlease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VacationPlease), [PurpleFeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFeathers), [Im_a_huge_fan_of_coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_a_huge_fan_of_coffee), [Bubbles759](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubbles759), [Ruairi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruairi), [KiliLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiliLover), [eldhraun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldhraun), [Neferteri_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neferteri_M), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [waterlilyblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlilyblue), [Tourmaline10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tourmaline10), [spiritleopard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritleopard), [Sachaward1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sachaward1), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [Bagofangrykittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagofangrykittens), [dab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dab), [KLeonard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLeonard), [ThornyHedge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge), [msilverstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msilverstar), [LeSeulMoyenDeLiberte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeSeulMoyenDeLiberte), [pandorasxbox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandorasxbox), [mjeanuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjeanuniverse), and [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane) as well as the 19 guests who've left kudos or commented, you guys are awesome!**

**Again, apologies for the artwork that goes with it, there's only so many pictures of the characters out there, my selection is incredibly limited :P**

 

                    

 

Thranduil watched as the doors to the Throne Room opened, and Thorin and his Company were marched in by Tauriel and her contingent of guards. The dwarves were grumbling; muttering under their breath about all the manhandling they were being subjected to and probably completely oblivious to the fact that everyone in the hall could hear them.        

All except one, at least.        

He looked to the right where Fíli was positioned beside the throne; his stance and expression were relaxed, but his eyes were alert and trained on his companions.        

What it must feel like - to know that those you care about knew nothing of your existence. That they could pass through the rest of their lives with one who meant so much to them as nothing more than a spectre in their dreams... It was a feeling that made him shudder internally; but while he was sympathetic to the dwarf’s plight, he was grateful as well.     

He was grateful that Fíli was worldly enough to know that, at the end of the day, one life did not outweigh all others, and that the greatest courage sometimes meant the greatest of sacrifices.     

No matter the outcome, Fíli would be forever known as a hero among his people - in song and in scripture. He would make sure of it.     

He nodded imperceptibly when Fíli looked his way, the dwarf’s senses likely alerting him to the fact he was being observed. The look they shared was brief, but he knew Fíli wouldn’t misunderstand the message he was conveying.     

 _You are one of us now._      

Sure enough, the dwarf nodded in return, a minute bob of the head before turning his attention back to the approaching dwarves.     

His gaze swept over his guards, noting with satisfaction that they were all treating the presence of – in their eyes at least - a stranger by his side as though it were normal. The briefing he’d given them all had been simple, but clear. Very soon Fíli would be joining their ranks; his memories altered to believe he had always been one of them. He was to be afforded every courtesy they gave Legolas, and were to keep their mutterings to themselves – after all, Fíli’s knowledge of their native tongue could not only be a huge benefit over the coming weeks, but it could also spell the downfall of this plan if he suspected anything was amiss.     

Despite the evident confusion and wariness of a stranger in their midst, they had all accepted his orders without argument, and so far had not given him a reason to doubt this plan would work.     

Fíli himself had been told that from this point forward he was Legolas’ younger, adopted brother, and that – should any of the dwarves speak to him - he was to leave the answers to himself or Legolas to deal with. Despite the reassurance that it was impossible, he was wary of Fíli’s voice triggering their memories; hence minimising any interactions between them as much as possible.     

Besides, he really didn’t want to deal with temper tantrums being thrown while being accused of kidnapping. Thorin’s dignity wouldn’t survive that experience unscathed.     

He turned his attention away from the dwarf at his side to the ones who were now at the base of his throne, glaring up at him with blatant distrust and anger.    

If he didn’t have an image to uphold, he would have rolled his eyes. Petty children, the lot of them.    

“My Lord,” Tauriel greeted, positioning herself in front of her charges and bowing slightly. “The Dwarven Company, as you requested.”        

He inclined his head, and Tauriel drew to the side; standing guard at the bottom of the stairs and watching the dwarves before her to ensure they didn’t cause any trouble. With a quick glance, he spotted the Halfling lingering at the back of the group and beckoned him forwards.        

“Come now, Master Bilbo, why do you hide behind your friends? Surely you have no reason to distrust me?”        

The dwarves turned to look at the Hobbit, whose cheeks were tinted red as he made his way to the front of the group – coming to stand at Thorin’s side. “My apologies, my Lord. My trust in you is not only sincere, but it is necessary - for the lives of those I care about depend on you.” Here, his eyes flicked towards Fíli, but they lingered nary a second. “I didn’t want to draw your attention away from the important matters you have to discuss with Thorin and his kin, however, hence my decision to remain in the background.”     

“Important matters,” Thorin scoffed. “He has brought us here on false pretences, Master Baggins – I’ve told you this already. You should never believe a word out of this elf’s mouth, for he would much rather see us rot in his cells than reclaim our homeland.”        

Bilbo rolled his eyes, and turned slightly to glare at the Dwarf King. “And as I’ve told you several times, _Thorin_ , his offer to release you is genuine.”     

“Indeed it is,” he confirmed, drawing the eyes of the Company back to him. “Your burglar has pleaded your case to me far better than you or your kin could ever have managed, Thorin Oakenshield. Perhaps you would do well to take lessons in courtesy and humility from the Halfling.”     

He smirked when the Dwarf Lord bristled at the insult, and heard the soft snort of amusement from both Princes. “You have the Halfling to thank for your release. Besides,” here he allowed himself to anger the dwarf somewhat, because really, where was the fun in being civil? “You take up far too much room in my kingdom and the smell will undoubtedly linger for several months to come. To spare my people that pain any longer, it is better I release you now.”     

As expected there was some furious grumbling, and he revelled in it. It was amusing how easy Dwarves were to annoy; like cats fluffing up in indignation when a wolf looked at them funny.     

He could feel the exasperation and amusement radiating from the two either side of him, but as well trained as they both were, he knew their expressions would show nothing.        

“As a sign of my honesty – not that I should have to prove anything to you, Oakenshield – not only will your weapons be returned, but I will also give you a boat to send you on your way with enough supplies that you shall not need to pass by Lake Town.” He nodded to the two guards who were guarding the dwarves weapons, and the company below him murmured their shock when they laid eyes on their belongings.        

“Why would you do this?” Thorin growled, not bothering to look at the returned weapons. “What do you get out of this?”        

He narrowed his eyes at the Dwarf King. “Aside from being free of you and your ilk? I know what hunts you. If you remain here, you’ll bring death to my door – this is something my Kingdom wants no part of. So you are to leave immediately, before Azog and his filth track you here and attack my people. Unless, you’d prefer to be prisoners when they arrive? Not that they’d ever get past our defenses, but I’d have no issue handing you over if it meant saving the lives of my men.”        

Thorin looked like he wanted to retort, but the white haired, older dwarf – Balin, if he remembered rightly - placed a hand on his elbow. “Let it go Thorin; if he’s releasing us we should be grateful. We’ll be able to reach Erebor before Durin’s Day now.”        

There was a moment of tense silence, before Thorin nodded stiffly. But rather than turn away, he turned his attention to Fíli.     

Thranduil grit his teeth. Meddlesome dwarf, could he just not leave well enough alone for once in his life?     

“And you,” Thorin sneered, “who do you think you are, to stand there as the Elf King’s right hand?” Thranduil turned his head slightly to see Fíli give his Uncle nothing more than a cocked eyebrow and blank face in return. “You’re clearly a dwarf, and yet you stand there pretending to be one of them. Why would you desert your own kind for this lot?”        

When not a single dwarf had called out to Fíli the moment they arrived, he’d known the potion had worked. Still, it was good to get the added reassurance when the Company had no sign of recognition in their eyes as they all looked up at the blond – only open curiosity or wariness.     

“Dwarves are not as righteous as you believe, Oakenshield. It was his kind that deserted him,” he replied evenly; pleased when Fíli remained silent like he’d been instructed. “My guards found him on the borders of my Realm when he was little more than a babe – abandoned and near death. So I took him in and raised him; he may be a dwarf by blood – but he is my son and you shall speak to him with respect.”       

“Forgive me, my Lord, but children are sacred to Dwarves,” Balin interrupted, before looking back at Fíli curiously. “I doubt he would have been abandoned.”     

“And what makes you say that, Master Dwarf?”       

Thranduil turned his head and narrowed his eyes at Fíli in warning, but the dwarf ignored him. His eyes were hard, and his tone like steel. Neither wavered, and despite his annoyance Thranduil watched the exchange with interest.    

It’s not like he could do much else, now that Fíli had spoken.    

“Excuse me, lad?”       

“What makes you think that? Just because children are sacred to your kind, doesn’t mean children are to their parents. I look at you all and not a single one of you are blond like myself – when logic dictates at least one of you should be. Of the dwarves I’ve met over the years, not one has shown even the lightest of browns. You’re all dark or ginger. Perhaps my mother was ashamed of having a fair-haired child; believed me to be a curse, perhaps? And so chose to leave me for the wolves to find.”    

He wouldn’t deny that he was impressed. Either the boy had spent some time making up a story for his existence in the Woodland Realm, or he was talented at thinking on the spot. Either way, his delivery was flawless, so the chances of anyone doubting his lie were slim to none.    

The older dwarf frowned, clearly unconvinced. “Legend has it that blond haired dwarflings have been blessed by Mahal himself,” Balin countered. “They are rare in our kind, and treasured when born. You would not have been abandoned, nor unloved.”    

Fíli rolled his eyes. “A lovely fable; I’m sure it comforts the few it applies to,” he drawled. “And yet, here I am. Perhaps knowing that tale, Master Dwarf, my mother decided she was unable to give me the life she felt I was destined for – hence why she left me behind. And if the god’s really are supposed to be watching over me like your story says, then perhaps she felt I had a better chance with the elves than my own people.”    

“You’re saying elves are better than dwarves?” Thorin snarled, taking a step forward before being restrained by Balin and the bald dwarf. “That we wont care for our own?”    

“Well what do you know, brother,” Thranduil sighed internally when Legolas spoke up. This wasn’t going to end well. “It appears deafness isn’t unique to you after all, it must be a common trait among dwarves.”    

Fíli blinked and looked over at Legolas, feigning surprise. “I’m sorry,” he said mildly, “did you say something?”    

“Deaf and a dolt, why brother – you’d fit right in with them!”    

“Twinkle twinkle -”     

“Enough,” he sighed, cutting Fíli off before he really got going and ignoring the indignant mutters and sniggers from several of the dwarves below. “We don’t have all day to bandy words. Tauriel, escort the dwarves to their boat and ensure they leave immediately. The sooner they’re gone from my sight, the better.”  

With a sharp bow Tauriel issued orders to her men, each of them grabbing a dwarf and leading him to the weapons. The grumbling didn't stop; in fact it got worse, the ungrateful pests, but within short order they each had a sack before being marched from the hall. The grumbling didn’t stop; in fact it got worse, the ungrateful pests, but within short order they each had a sack before being marched from the hall.   

The door slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing slightly in the vast room. He pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly, releasing the sigh of relief he didn’t realise he’d been holding in.    

It was done.    

 

* * *

 

From the moment the door opened, Fíli’s eyes had remained surreptitiously trained on his brother, tracking every move and expression he made for any sign of recognition.    

There was none.    

While he'd caught the brunet openly staring at him once or twice, it was with nothing more than curiosity – and he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Part of him had still believed that there was a chance Kíli would recognise him – that he would take one look at him and demand his release or face seeing their kingdom burned to the ground.   

But there was nothing.   

No spark of doubt in his eyes, no shadow of a memory that made him look twice. Fíli had ceased to exist in his brother’s mind, just as Thranduil had promised. He had mixed feelings about it that was for sure, but at the end of the day they’d achieved what they’d set out to do.  

Assured that Kíli’s was memory gone, there had been one last thing to check.  

A quick, internal examination of their bond had revealed that there was, as always, nothing on Kíli's end, and for that he was grateful. The last thing he wanted was to find the bond had flared to life, forcing his brother to experience emotions that weren’t his own before ripping them away; causing him undue pain with no understanding as to why he was feeling those emotions - the moment their bond broke. 

It meant that any pain caused by the separation would be limited to him, and him alone.   

He withdrew from his mind and refocused on the conversation between Thranduil and Thorin, and sighed quietly at his Uncle’s stubbornness. Now that he was standing on the opposite side, he could see why Thranduil would never have had a hope in Mahal at convincing Thorin that he wasn’t as evil as he’d been made out to be over the years. If he were completely honest, he half expected Thorin to stick his fingers in his ears and announce that he wasn’t listening to the room at large.   

The choice to remove his companions’ memories, rather than negotiate for his help was starting to make far more sense.   

“Perhaps you would do well to take lessons in courtesy and humility from the Halfling.”  

He snorted softly, valiantly maintaining his neutral expression – but it was a near thing. Thorin, taking lessons from Bilbo? Please. Thorin was more likely to declare his marriage to Azog before he let someone try and teach him anything.  

The only one with any hope of teaching Thorin anything would have been his sister, because Amad would have beaten the lesson into Thorin with her boot to save everyone the trouble.  

The following scathing comment Thranduil had him biting on his lip to keep from laughing. Clearly the elf was bored, otherwise he would have thrown them all on the boat with their weapons and washed his hands of them already.  

Oh well, he had to take his entertainment where he could get it, he guessed.  

While he waited for Thranduil to finish he ran his eyes over the rest of his friends, trying to memorize them all in his mind in case, in some impossible way, something they said or did helped him regain his memories in the near future.  

There was Balin and Dwalin, standing as always on either side of Thorin; ready to defend or restrain their king at a moment’s notice. Kíli was just behind them, guarding his Uncle's back like always. He spared the briefest of thoughts that Kíli's positioning was slightly off – more central than he would normally be.  

 _‘Because you’re normally right beside him,’_ his mind so helpfully reminded him. ‘ _He’s covering your position without even realising it.’_   

Gloin and Oín were side by side on Kíli's right, glaring at the elves distrustfully. Or at least Gloin was doing the glaring as he relayed quietly in his brother's ear what was being said. As per usual whenever he lost or broke his hearing trumpet, Oín just looked confused.  

Dori, Ori and Nori were next; the younger dwarf wedged between his two brothers so tightly that he had no hope of blinking without them feeling it, let alone moving. He felt for his friend; Ori may not be the most proficient of fighters they had, but he was good enough to defend himself until help arrived. He should know, seeing as he and Kíli had spent months training him once they found out he’d signed up for this quest.  

He just wished the other two dwarves would show some faith in their brother once in a while.  

Bifur, Bofur and Bombur rounded out their mismatched gang. The toy maker and baker were looking around the room with interest, but it was obvious they were bored and wanted to move out. Bifur, on the other hand was... staring at him.  

Uh oh. 

He swallowed, suddenly nervous. Of all the dwarves, he'd never have thought that the potion would have the weakest effect on the dwarf whose head had been injured in battle years ago.  

Oh.  

Bugger it all, how could he be such a fool to have not even _thought_ of that?! 

After a moment of his own panicked staring, he realised Bifur wasn’t staring at him outright; rather, he had his head turned but was watching him out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t enough to capture anyone’s attention – why would it? Bifur did weird things all the time - but it was enough that Fíli knew the older dwarf knew more about him than he should.   

Bifur's eyes moved to his face, and Fíli narrowed his minutely - enough that he would see but not enough to draw anyone else's attention - in return to see what would happen.  

Thankfully nothing did. Bifur tilted his head slightly, but didn’t say or do anything that would raise any suspicions, and so he released a silent sigh. That was far too close for comfort.  

“And you,” the tone had his eyes snapping to Thorin, and he tamped down a growl when he realised his uncle was glaring at him. He must’ve made a face at some point to draw his Uncle’s attention, because that was the only explanation he had for Thorin to suddenly talk to him. “Who do you think you are, to stand there as the Elf King’s right hand? You’re clearly a dwarf, and yet you stand there pretending to be one of them. Why would you desert your own kind for this lot?”       

 _‘Because I’m saving your life, you stubborn ass_ ,’ he thought angrily. He kept his expression as neutral as he could, but he knew at least one of his eyebrows had disobeyed orders and climbed up his forehead for a better view.  

Stupid eyebrow.  

“Dwarves are not as righteous as you believe, Oakenshield. It was his kind that deserted him.”  

Oh good, at least he was saved from having to reply. He listened with interest to see what story Thranduil would tell, knowing that there was a chance he was going to have to add to it. Thorin would press him to say something, he was positive.  

“My guards found him on the borders of my Realm when he was little more than a babe – abandoned and near death. So I took him in and raised him; he may be a dwarf by blood – but he is my son and you shall speak to him with respect.”  

Okay, he could work with that. Thorin would probably throw an almighty fit if he regained the Fíli sized gap in his memories, but for now it was the most logical of stories for why he would be where he was. 

Balin opened his mouth, and Fíli sighed. So much for the simple explanation. “Forgive me, my Lord, but children are sacred to Dwarves. I doubt he would have been abandoned.”     

 _‘Damn you Balin,’_ he thought, annoyed. ‘ _Arguing with Thorin is bad enough.’_ “And what makes you say that, Master Dwarf?”       

“Excuse me, lad?”       

“What makes you think that?” he repeated. Time to use his storytelling skills; he just hoped no one saw through him. “Just because children are sacred to your kind, doesn’t mean children are to their parents. I look at you all and not a single one of you are blond like myself – when logic dictates at least one of you should be. Of the dwarves I’ve met over the years, not one has shown even the lightest of browns. You’re all dark or ginger.”  

That, at the very least, was true. Blond haired dwarves were incredibly rare – aside from his father he’d only ever met three others in his life. “Perhaps my mother was ashamed of having a fair-haired child; believed me to be a curse, perhaps? And so chose to leave me for the wolves to find.”    

“Legend has it that blond haired dwarfling's have been blessed by Mahal himself,” Balin countered. “They are rare in our kind, and treasured when born. You would not have been abandoned, nor unloved.”    

When he noticed the smug look on Thorin’s face, he rolled his eyes. Seriously, what was Thorin expecting him to do? Swoon at the thought that hey - dwarves loved their offspring and he should go running into their arms, begging them to take him in to find his family because his being here was obviously a mistake? 

Hilarious.  

“A lovely fable; I’m sure it comforts the few it applies to,” he drawled. “And yet, here I am. Perhaps knowing that tale, Master Dwarf, my mother decided she was unable to give me the life she felt I was destined for – hence why she left me behind. And if the god’s really are supposed to be watching over me like your story says, then perhaps she felt I had a better chance with the elves than my own people.”   

The Fíli shaped hole in Thorin's life would always remain, because Thorin would kill him for saying that when he remembered.  

Clearly Thorin didn’t agree with his reply, because he looked furious. He cringed internally at the look. Oooh, but he was a dead dwarfling. “You’re saying elves are better than dwarves?” Thorin snarled, and he couldn’t help the flicker of amusement when his uncle was visibly restrained by Balin and Dwalin. “That we wont care for our own?”    

“Well what do you know, brother,” he smirked when Legolas spoke up. Time to play happy-yet-argumentative families for their audience. “It appears deafness isn’t unique to you after all, it must be a common trait among dwarves.”    

 “I’m sorry,” he said mildly, looking at Legolas and pretending to be surprised to find him there. “Did you say something?”    

“Deaf and a dolt, why brother – you’d fit right in with them!” 

Challenge accepted, _brother._     

“Twinkle twinkle -”     

“Enough.” 

Fíli bit down on the rest of his retort, slightly disappointed. He had a really good one too. 

“We don’t have all day to bandy words. Tauriel, escort the dwarves to their boat and ensure they leave immediately. The sooner they’re gone from my sight, the better.” 

He watched as his friends and family were marched from the room, and from his life for the foreseeable – and possibly forever – future. 

Just before the doors slammed shut he caught Bilbo's eye, the Halfling looking at him pointedly. He nodded, giving the Hobbit what he hoped was a reassuring smile. 

 _‘Look after each other,’_ he thought as the door slammed shut behind them. _‘And stay safe. Please.’_  

Silence reigned for what felt like a lifetime – each of them caught up in their own musings now that they were free of their visitors. Thranduil was the one to break it, sighing heavily before he stood – fixing Fíli with a look. 

“As you can see, the potion has worked. It’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain.” 

He swallowed, nervousness clawing at his heart. There was no escape now. 

Exhaling a steady breath he rounded the throne and inclined his head, ensuring he was nothing more than the perfect prince Thranduil and Legolas believed him to be. “I’m ready.” 

“You’re not,” Thranduil counted as he descended the stairs, leading him and Legolas out into the hall. “But I applaud your bravery nonetheless.” 

Fíli rolled his eyes, but refrained from answering; instead allowing himself to be led through the palace. Eventually they arrived at a nondescript door, and Thranduil opened it with a wave of his hand. 

The room was homely, but the furnishings spare; housing only what it needed and nothing more. His eyes slid over the comfy looking bed and the shelves that lined the walls – their contents neatly stacked and spaced for efficiency. Candles had been placed tastefully on several surfaces, and there was the faintest hint of lavender and honeycomb in the air. On the far side of the room there was a small fireplace crackling away merrily with a generous supply of wood stacked nearby, and two well-loved armchairs sat in front of it; their emerald coverings faded from generous use over the years. 

And one of them was occupied. 

The elf stood, and Fíli took a moment to look the healer over, for that was the only person it could be. 

His face was lined, his hair blond but streaked with white and braided several times over at his temple. His robes were a ruby red, golden patterns stitched into the fabric and – if he was honest – the elf had an air about him that reminded him of Gandalf, minus the beard and frankly bushy eyebrows. 

But what caught his attention was the elf's eyes – a deep cobalt blue that looked as though they could pierce the very depths of his soul. And they were staring right at him. 

“Welcome Fíli, son of Víali,” the elf rumbled, and it was all Fíli could do not to shiver at the deep, baritone voice. 

He wasn't sure why, but it was the elf’s voice, rather than his looks that reassured him. Whatever happened, he was in safe hands. 

“I am Thíndaír, lead healer for the Woodland Realm.” 

Fíli bowed, ensuring that not a hair nor limb was out of place when he did so. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Healer,” he replied. “I look forward to getting to know you.” 

Thíndaír’s lip curled in amusement, and he looked at Thranduil knowingly. “You weren’t lying about this one,” he said, motioning Fíli forward and directing him to the bed. “A true heir to the Throne indeed.” 

“And you are certain he will remain that way once his memories are altered?” Thranduil replied, picking up a jar and examining its contents. “After all, if he is left as nothing more than a bumbling, muttering fool whose training and skills have been erased I shall be most displeased.” 

Thíndaír shook his head, his laughter rumbling like thunder in the room. “After all these years, and still so little faith in my abilities gwinig,” he replied, grabbing several glass jars and emptying their contents into a bowl, before repeating the process with a different set of jars and emptying them into a second bowl. “The boy will lose nothing of his skills nor abilities; only his knowledge of his family. In his mind and memories, his brother will be Legolas, his father yourself, and his people ours.” 

“Good.” Thranduil set the jar down before turning back to the healer. “Do you require anything else from us, or can we take our leave?” 

Thíndaír picked up a small knife from the table and waved both elves forward. “Only a drop of your blood, then you are free to go.” 

“Always with the blood,” Fíli muttered, shaking his head in disgust. “Why is it blood?” 

“Would you prefer it was something else?” Legolas asked as his finger was pricked. “Another bodily fluid, perhaps.” 

Fíli blanched at the suggestion. “Y'know what? Never mind. Blood’s absolutely fine.” He ignored Legolas’ sniggering and watched as Thíndaír tapped first his blood, then his father’s into the second bowl. 

“Thank you, my Lords,” Thíndaír said, bowing to both elves once the last of the blood had been added. “You may leave now. I shall call you when it is done.” 

Thranduil inclined his head and swept from the room, clapping Fíli on the shoulder briefly on his way past. Legolas followed his father, but not before glancing back; hesitating at the door as though he wanted to say something. 

To save him the trouble, Fíli smirked at the elf and wiggled his fingers in a wave. “Bye Twinkle Toes, miss you already.” 

“Aüle save me,” Legolas muttered, flipping him off before slamming the door shut. 

Fíli looked at Thíndaír who was chuckling at their banter, stirring the bowls contents slowly. “So, what now?” 

“It is quite harmless, I assure you,” Thíndaír replied, “and identical to the process of your companions.” He poured the contents of the two bowls into separate cups, swirling them both before setting them on the small table beside the bed and motioning for Fíli to lay down. “You might want to remove your weapons and make yourself comfortable, as it will take considerably longer to replace your true family with your false one.” 

Fíli offloaded his weapons onto a table by the door before kicking off his boots and climbing onto the bed. “This is reversible, correct?” he asked hesitantly. “I will regain my memories at the end?” 

“But of course,” Thíndaír replied, setting a candle down beside the bed and lighting it; a pleasant yet unidentifiable fragrance immediately noticeable. “The potion will make your mind malleable, and I will plant several key words within you unconscious mind. Said in order, and only by me, shall you regain your memories.” 

“Like hypnosis?” 

Thíndaír looked at him, surprised. “You’re familiar with the process, then?” 

“I know of it, but not enough of the finer details.” 

“A well-educated individual,” Thíndaír said, looking pleased. “I wish we had more time to talk, but alas, we do not.” He handed the first cup over. “Perhaps once you’ve regained your memories, we can talk as I would like us to do. Drink up, there's no point dragging it out.” 

Fíli took the proffered cup and drained its contents in one go. “I think I would like that.” He handed the cup back and was given the second one. “Well, here goes nothing.” 

He handed the second cup back and looked at the Healer expectantly. “Now what?” 

“Close your eyes,” Thíndaír rumbled, his voice having an immediate effect and sending Fíli hurtling towards unconsciousness. “Relax, and let the potion do the rest.” 

 

 

 _“Who are you?”_  

 

 _“Fíli. Son of Víali._  
_Nephew of Thorin Oakenshield, brother of Kíli._  
_Heir to the Throne of Erebor.”_

_“Your name is Fíli._  
_Adopted son of Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm._  
_You were found abandoned near our borders and taken in._  
_You’re the younger brother and protector of Prince Legolas._  
_Remember?”_

_“I... yes?”_  

_“Are you sure?”_  

_“...”_  

_“What is your name?”_  

_“Fíli.”_  

_“Who is your father?”_  

_“Ví... I... I don’t know.”_  

_“Why don’t you know?”_  

_“I... I was abandoned.”_  

_“Where were you abandoned?”_  

_“I wasn’t... I...”_  

_“Where were you abandoned?”_  

_“Mirkwood's borders.”_  

_“Who took you in?”_  

_“My... my father.”_  

_“And who is your father?”_  

_“...Thranduil.”_  

_“And who is your brother?”_  

_“Kí... I’m...”_  

_“Your brother is Legolas._  
_You both bicker, but you would do anything for him._  
_And he, you. Do you remember?”_

_“Yes.”_  

_“Who is your brother?”_  

_“Legolas.”_  

_“Good. Now tell me, who are you?”_  

_“Fíli._  
_Adopted son of Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm._  
_Brother of Legolas, protector of the Throne.”_

 

 _“Good. Let’s begin.”_  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwinig - little one


	6. In The Shadow of the Mountain

**A/N: Hello everyone! A very brief interlude, seeing as 1) there's not much that can be said for a boat ride to the mountain, other than it's a boat ride... to the mountain... and 2) Fili is kind of the main focus in this story, so I didn't want to deviate too much unless absolutely necessary. This was though, to show that not all is as hopeless as it seems. Maybe. Yay?**

**Thank you for all your lovely comments as well! I've gotten a bit slack lately (again, sorry) but I will get around to responding when I have some free time. Each and every one of them makes me grin, so thank you for all your positivity for the story so far, I hope it's just as entertaining as we go along!**

**On a completely random and unrelated note, I've just entered into my first ever Jiu-Jitsu competition for this weekend (note: I was arm barred into it :P) and I am suitably shit scared lol. It's one thing to be rolling around in a class learning, and another to actually be competing. I only started learning in January, so I'll probably be doing a fair bit of beached whale flailing - but hey, YOLO! For those who are contemplating doing something for the first time and are unsure, just go for it! You only live once, after all! I'll probably look like a complete dick, but oh well. I can only improve from there. Or so I keep telling myself XD**

**Shout out to[wayward_pie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_pie), [Astaraiche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astaraiche), [Monsan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsan), [Blueskydancers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueskydancers), [knotyourboyfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knotyourboyfriend), [EmeraldJaded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldJaded), [NewDispute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewDispute), [fkuz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fkuz), [empress666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empress666), [VacationPlease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VacationPlease), [PurpleFeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFeathers), [Im_a_huge_fan_of_coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Im_a_huge_fan_of_coffee), [Bubbles759](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bubbles759), [Ruairi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruairi), [KiliLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiliLover), [eldhraun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldhraun), [Neferteri_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neferteri_M), [mina86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mina86), [Froot_Luips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froot_Luips), [waterlilyblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlilyblue), [Tourmaline10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tourmaline10), [spiritleopard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritleopard), [Sachaward1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sachaward1), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [ktime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktime), [Bagofangrykittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagofangrykittens), [dab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dab), [KLeonard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLeonard), [ThornyHedge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge), [msilverstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msilverstar), [LeSeulMoyenDeLiberte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeSeulMoyenDeLiberte), [pandorasxbox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandorasxbox), [mjeanuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjeanuniverse), and [Linane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linane) as well as the 23 guests who've commented and kudosed, you guys are awesome! **

 

As their boat cut through the water, Bilbo couldn’t help but look back at the two guards who were standing on the cliff face; watching them grow smaller as the boat drew further away. 

‘Be safe, Fíli,’ he thought as the guards eventually disappeared from view. ‘And for the love of all things good and green; don’t wreak too much havoc.’

“What’re yer looking at, Bilbo?” 

He turned to Bofur, pasting a carefree smile on his face to try and hide the concern that was gnawing at him. “Nothing in particular,” he replied, clapping the toymaker on the shoulder. “I just wish I’d had more time to spend there, is all. The elves are a fascinating race, and I would have quite liked to talk to a few more of them to get a greater understanding of their lives here.” 

“They’re arrogant, selfish bastards who care little for those beyond their walls,” Thorin growled, his eyes never leaving the mountain ahead of them. “Your time would have been spent better elsewhere.” 

He rolled his eyes, grateful the dwarf was ahead of him so he couldn’t see him do so. “They’re rightfully wary of others, but they’re not arrogant, nor selfish,” he replied curtly. “But as you seem to believe the worst in everyone, your thoughts on the matter don’t interest me in the slightest.” 

There was a growl, but no further response. He shook his head in annoyance before looking over at Erebor, worry in his heart at the thought of what was to come. 

Reclaiming the mountain for the dwarves was the end goal, but when he thought about it – it really was only a minor part of their quest. The mountain itself would stay there indefinitely, but they still had a dragon to remove – alive or dead; and Maker Bless, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy.  

He looked around at his companions; noting the excitement and trepidation on their faces at the thought of how close their goal was, how their quest was almost over; and he felt sorry for them. Sorry that they’d lost their home, sorry that they’d lost so many of their people, sorry that they were unable to find peace until they tried to reclaim that which was rightfully theirs. 

Elves were known to have long memories, but he was beginning to realise they weren’t the only ones. Dwarves were able to live for several hundred years, and their memories and stubbornness lasted just as long. 

His eyes settled on Kíli, and he frowned imperceptibly. The brunet was tucked up against the side of the boat, his eyes focused on the Woodland Realm. 

And he looked… lost. 

He watched as the brunet shifted slightly, looked to the side and opened his mouth before closing it – frowning in confusion before going back to looking where their boat had set out from. 

If ever he’d needed a sign that Kíli could remember, _would_ remember… that was it. 

Unfortunately, it was too early. The potion wouldn’t wear off until Thranduil gave them the antidote, or so he said, but regardless – any hint of memories now was in no way a good thing, because if he somehow broke through the potion’s effects he could put everyone in danger. 

No one more so than Fíli. 

It was time to see what he was thinking, see just how treacherous their footing was and whether he could gently nudge the dwarf in direction that didn’t result in his memories coming back prematurely. 

Picking his way through the collected passengers he made it to Kíli’s side, sliding down the wood to sit beside him. “Is everything alright, Kíli?” he asked, frowning worriedly when the brunet rubbed his chest, directly over his heart. 

 _‘_ _Kíli_ _is my One.’_

_‘He doesn’t know, does he? That’s why you’re doing this.’_

From the little he knew of Dwarven culture, of Ones, it was the binding of two souls. And Fíli had been convinced that the link for their two souls hadn’t been returned; that Kíli’s love for him – as lovers, not brothers - hadn’t existed.

But what he was seeing here indicated that maybe, just maybe there might be the faintest chance of something being returned, that their bond wasn’t as dead in the water as Fíli believed. 

“Kíli?” 

The brunet blinked and looked at him in surprise. In fact, gauging from the brunet's reaction, it was likely he hadn’t even heard him approach. 

Not good indeed. 

“Kíli,” he tried again. “Are you alright?” 

Kíli blinked again and shook his head, as though he was trying to shake himself of his thoughts. He smiled, but it was a bland, false smile; meant to reassure but only succeeding in doing the opposite. “Fine, Bilbo. I’m fine. Why do you ask?” 

“You seem...” he fumbled over the right word to use to describe exactly how the brunet seemed. There were a lot to choose from, but eventually he settled on one. “Distracted.” 

When Kíli went to shake his head again, he looked at him in exasperation. “You didn’t even notice me until I was sitting beside you.” 

“You’re our burglar, you’re supposed to be sneaky,” Kíli retorted, but he could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He watched with interest as Kíli looked around, his eyes scanning over their companions. Whatever he saw there, it clearly wasn’t what he was hoping to find.

The brunet bit his lip before looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “Do you feel...” his words drifted to a stop as he hesitated, and so he smiled to encourage him to continue. Kíli looked around again, as though he were afraid of being overheard, before ducking his head and lowering his voice.

“Do you feel like, I don’t know... like we’ve forgotten something?” 

“Like what?” 

The boy bit his lip, frustration marring his face. “That’s the thing, Bilbo,” he whispered. “I don’t know. But I keep feeling like something is missing, something important. I turn my head and get a flash of something in the corner of my eye, but when I go to look... it’s… gone.” 

Oh, but he wished he could say something, anything, that would put the boy at ease. Tell him it would be alright and that it would all make sense soon. 

But he couldn’t, because even the slightest hint would spell their demise. 

Instead, he placed a hand on Kíli’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Its been a long few days, my friend. You’re probably just tired, and I’m sure you’ll feel better after some rest.” 

Kíli rolled his eyes at this, the ghost of a smile appearing. “Amad would be relieved to know we have a mother hen on the trip – Mahal knows Thorin is just as irresponsible as I am when it comes to looking after himself.” 

“Your mother will be getting a report on both of you when this is done,” he teased. “Just so she knows I did my job properly.” 

Kíli huffed a laugh and shrugged out of his jacket, laying it on the floor of the boat. “I’ll be sure to read it before you give it to her, make sure you haven’t made anything up,” he promised as he lay down on his makeshift bed. “And I expect to see notes in there that I took naps when instructed.” 

He ruffled the brunet’s hair, laughing when his hand was batted away. When Kíli was settled he turned, reluctantly, to look at Erebor once again. 

Whatever happened next, he had to make sure he got the Company through this alive and unscathed as much as possible. There was just a dragon, and an army to deal with. Not to mention the fallout of Fíli’s adventures to plan an explanation for, as it’d undoubtedly be needed sometime soon. 

Declaring his love for the Sackville-Baggins' would be an easier task.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Credits for Gold Dust art goes to Christina Maria. I found it on Google and again on Pinterest :)


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